Abraham's Daughters
by retwin
Summary: Co-Written with Jack E. Peace Tired of losing assets and watching as others fumble about trying to apprehend Outcome 5 and Dr. Shearing Byer takes matters into his own hands. Abducting Marta's sister, Gemma, in order to gain information and perhaps lure the good doctor out of hiding. He is unaware that his actions will set in motion a wheel helmed by two rogue assets. Jason/Nick
1. Chapter 1

Some people are born with tragedy in their blood.

At least, that's what Gemma Shearing has thought since she was twenty years old and was awoken by the sound of a state trooper knocking on the front door to tell her that her parents were dead. The trooper had been very solemn offering Gemma his sympathies for her loss. It was just after midnight but she'd already been asleep for hours, knocked out by the pressure of studying for finals and writing essays, desperate to finish out the winter semester with a 4.0. Wouldn't her parents be proud; her sleep-heavy mind had a difficult time processing the man's words.

It had to be a dream; the words seemed disjointed but fit together into a perfect nightmare of understanding. Your parents killed…Traffic accident…Coming home…Drunk driver. It seemed so Lifetime movie, so much like a dream that she wanted to wake from and she would. That was what Gemma had held onto for the first few hours, the fact that maybe she _was_ dreaming. But when more officers showed up to ask her questions and give her details, when she started getting calls from family members, when she had to tell her ten-year-old sister that her parents were dead and the last traces of them in the house were the carefully wrapped and labeled Christmas presents under the tree, Gemma stopped believing it was a dream.

But she never stopped believing that somehow her family had been tainted by tragedy. How else can you explain a ten-year-old growing up without parents? A twenty-year-old having to raise her sister alone in the big house that seemed to be haunted by the ghosts of their parents?

How else can you explain a late night phone call from a stoic voiced man informing her that her baby sister was dead; killed in a fire that consumed her beautifully run-down Maryland home? It seemed this voice was no more comprehensible than that state trooper so many years ago. No trace of her body…Ongoing investigation…Very sorry...Did she seem depressed? Gemma had stared at the phone in her hand for what felt like hours, willing her mind to piece it all together praying her comprehension of his words was wrong; Marta—dead. It just didn't make sense. Gemma had spoken to Marta only hours before, doing her best to soothe her baby sister's addled nerves and fears. They made plans for her to come and visit, to fly up in the afternoon.

Gemma could hardly believe it when Marta had choked out the story about her colleagues and how she'd narrowly avoided ending up like the rest of them. Gemma was working late that night and had not seen the 'Breaking News' story as it aired. It was only after she got home and charged her phone that she received the twelve texts from her sister, each pleading with her sister to call as soon as she got the message. So, Gemma called instead of texting assuming that dick Peter Doyle had done something to hurt her sister. Marta's voice when she answered had sounded shell-shocked and she had dissolved into a fit of tears at the sound of Gemma's voice.

She never regretted taking the promotion and transferring to Montreal more than at that moment when her baby sister needed her. Gemma could not breathe. She was so breathlessly relieved that Marta made it out of that situation alive; especially, after she was able to get more details from various news reports and online articles. There were rumors that the man, Foite, had an unusual fascination with her sister. Marta had talked a little about her co-workers and had on more than one occasion mentioned the man being gay. It just wasn't making any sense.

Questions seemed to be haunting Gemma's footsteps. How does a woman walk away from a mass-murder and suicide only to be burnt alive in her bed? Receiving news of her sister's death in a random house fire less than twenty-four hours on the heels of surviving such a high profile shooting defied logic; Marta would have said, 'I don't do random.'

Gemma figured it was understandable for Marta's death to consume her mind. Marta was all she had left; her sole remaining family, the little sister Gemma had practically raised and guided through life. She couldn't seem to stop pacing around her house, pausing intermittently to stare at pictures of her and Marta on her mantle or framed in her office. Marta's high school graduation, various birthdays and holidays, Marta graduating at the top of her class and charging on without pause to achieve her doctorate and several doctorates after that.

It was the photos of Marta mugging for the camera on various vacations, smiling despite the serious glint that was always visible in her warm brown eyes which ripped a sob from Gemma's throat. That glint had been there since Marta was ten years old and had only gotten more pronounced as she went through her life, striving to follow in their father's footsteps. Gemma couldn't make the Marta in the photos and the dead Marta the man described into the same person. It just didn't fit together. She refused to let it.

It was only after her second sleepless night that Gemma started to really think. She had been working so hard at _not_ thinking, at trying to block out the fact that her little sister was dead, dying a horrific death, that she now wondered if she had been missing the obvious. The strange coincidence that Marta should die in a seeming accident, just a day after everyone else in her department had been murdered.

Gemma had never been one for conspiracy theories but now this one was nagging at her, consuming her mind in a way that was almost foreign to her. She wasn't like Marta, who got an idea or plan in her mind and wouldn't let go of it until she had seen it through to the end but now she felt like a bulldog with a bone. This thought was impossible to shake loose.

She thought about that last conversation with Marta, how her sister had still been noticeably disturbed about what happened in the lab but seemed resolute in her desire to start putting it behind her. Marta hadn't mentioned anything dubious or even sinister; she'd just expressed her continual disbelief that her colleague had been capable of shooting up the entire lab. "There are behavioral projects," Marta had started but quickly stopped herself from saying anything more.

Gemma was used to these sorts of conversations with her sister, the ones that abruptly switched gears. Marta had never really been able to tell her what she worked on, only that it was a government project and highly classified. Her security contract kept her from saying too much, even to her sister. It used to annoy Gemma, but now she couldn't stop thinking about the implications of what Marta had nearly let slip.

What _was_ Marta working on? What type of behavioral projects were taking place inside her lab? Marta was a virologist what use would she be to a project on behavior? Gemma wasn't naïve enough to think that she and the general public knew everything that the government was working on, that there weren't all kinds of secret projects being conducted on a daily basis. She'd also seen enough thrillers to know what happened to the people who knew too much or threatened to expose those secret government experiments. She'd always written those plots off as fiction but now she wasn't so sure.

Maybe it _wasn't_ a coincidence that Marta was dead, suddenly killed in a freak house fire. She knew Marta well enough to know that she'd never be careless enough to allow the house to burn down due to negligence and Marta was level-headed enough to be able to escape the burning building; if she'd been able to. Maybe it wasn't the fire that had killed her sister.

This idea rolled around in Gemma's mind until it established itself as truth, in spite of her best efforts to keep herself from jumping to conclusions. It is the only thing that Gemma is thinking of as she sits on her couch, mindlessly flipping through channels as the Chinese takeout she just ordered gets cold on her coffee table. It seems almost too crazy to entertain, the thought that the government just kills off people who don't suit their needs anymore and yet…Gemma just can't see it any other way.

The knock on her front door startles Gemma enough to cause her to drop the TV remote. She is not expecting visitors, especially not at eight o'clock at night. Her eyes flick to the takeout containers on the table, as though they can somehow provide an explanation as to who could be at the door.

There is another knock, louder and somehow more impatient and Gemma gets to her feet, shuffling toward the front door. She hasn't changed out of her pajamas in three days but that hardly seems important. Whoever is at the door will just have to deal with her rumpled sleepwear and funky aroma; her sister was dead.

A sharply dressed man is standing on her front stoop, looking out of place in the fading daylight. His hands are stuck in his pockets but it doesn't make him look casual. Gemma opens the door just a crack, regarding the man cautiously. "Can I help you?"

"Gemma Shearing," He gives her the once over, starting to withdraw his hands from his pockets. She barely has the chance to answer in the affirmative before she sees something moving toward her and everything goes black.

When Gemma opens her eyes, she doesn't recognize her surroundings. Her head is pounding and her mind is heavy, unable to provide any help in trying to figure out where she is or how she got there. She tries to lift her hands to press against her temples but cold metal bites against her wrists. Gemma looks down to see her hands cuffed to the arms of an uncomfortable plastic chair. Her ankles are cuffed as well. That is when she begins to panic.

She feels like she might throw up from the emotions roiling in her stomach and the pounding in her head. Complete and absolute fear that washes over her body and Gemma tries to remember something, anything that might indicate how she got into this position. She remembers sitting on the couch…Chinese food…the man. The man who came to her door, "Oh my God," she gasps, "I've been kidnapped." This cannot be happening. Though, Gemma has to admit, this is a fitting ending for the Greek tragedy that is the Shearing family. Parents killed by a drunk driver, youngest daughter killed in a house fire, oldest daughter abducted and killed. There is a lesson in there for everyone.

Out of her line of sight, a door opens and Gemma desperately tries to see who is entering the room, but she can't quite angle her head and the movement sends a flash of pain through her body. A man dressed in a grey suit walks into her line of sight; he's not the man who showed up at her house, however long ago. He is taller, thinner and his features are sharper. His pointed nose lending a predatory look to his blue eyes; his face is expressionless but those eyes seem to shine dangerously, like he's enjoying having her here defenseless and terrified.

Gemma swallows, trying to calm her pounding heart and still the waves of terror coursing through her body. She lifts her head slightly, trying to look less like a cowering mess. She doesn't want to die here but if she has to, she wants to do it with some dignity.

"Please forgive the accommodations, Miss Shearing." The man says as he sits down across from her. "We just never can be too careful."

"How do you know my name," Gemma asks and follows up with more questions, "Who are you? And where the hell am I?"

"My name is Eric Byer, I work with the CIA." The man answers and Gemma is a little surprised by his up front answer. "The reason you're here, well…you can thank your sister for that."

The cold way he says this is like a punch to her gut not only because of the unfeeling words, but because his voice seems so horribly familiar; it is the way he says the word sister that triggers her memory. "My sister is dead," she hisses, "But you already know that, don't you. After all you are the one that called to tell me the news,"

The man does not betray anything with either word or deed and Gemma's brow knits in confusion. "My sister," She repeats, staring at Byer uncomprehendingly. "What does Marta have to do with any of this?"

Byer folds his hands together on the surface of the table. "Your sister is a wanted terrorist, Miss Shearing. She's responsible for the deaths of several federal agents and has been aiding and abetting another wanted terrorist for the past several days."

For a moment, Gemma just stares at him. It is almost as though he is not speaking English; his words go in one ear and out the other. She catches certain words like Marta and 'terrorist' but they don't seem to go together. Finally, she says dumbly, "My sister is dead. You—," she emphasizes with a tilt of her chin as she grounds out, "You told me my sister was dead!"

Byer just shakes his head. "Marta Shearing faked her own death as an attempt to shake the CIA off her trail. I can assure you, Miss Shearing, your sister is very much alive." He informs her frankly.

Gemma wonders how he can utter those words so casually. He has no idea he's just turned her entire world upside down, for the better. The man is an idiot and Marta is alive. Gemma wanted to laugh and cry in spite of her fear and confusion, she feels something akin to hope or joy bloom in her chest. It seems almost too good to be true. People don't just rise from the dead. "What?"

Byer reaches for the attaché case he brought in with him and pulls out a manila folder. He withdraws three photos from the folder, sliding them across the table so Gemma can see them. They are stills taken from security footage, blown up and cropped. She looks at her sister's face in each photograph: Marta in the airport, Marta going through customs, Marta accompanied by a man in the corridor of some building Gemma does not recognize. In the first two photos, Gemma can see apprehension and fear in her sister's eyes. In the third, she looks almost courageous, confident in her actions. Gemma wants to reach for the pictures, to brush her fingers across the pixilation's that make up her sister's face, to somehow touch her through the paper. But the handcuffs keep her in place.

"I don't understand." Gemma looks back up at Byer. "How can she be alive?"

"Your sister is a very dangerous woman." Byer informs her and Gemma snorts at this. "The house fire was to throw us off her trail. Your sister has stolen government property and helped murder a number of agents both here in American and on foreign soil."

"No." Gemma says abruptly and Byer stops, looking at her. Marta was a bookworm, a scientist; there is no way she would take lives unless she had no other choice. "No. You're wrong. Marta would never kill or steal. "

Byer laughs mirthlessly. "I can assure you, Miss Shearing, she already has."

Gemma just shakes her head. "I don't believe you. I know my sister. She would never…she could never kill anyone. She'd never help a terrorist." Not her Marta, not the Marta who refused to do anything but play by the rules. It was almost funny to think about Marta running around the world causing destruction and felling government agents with a single blow. Under any other circumstance, she would have laughed.

"I'm not here to debate your sister's character with you." Byer retorts. "I have the facts and the footage. Whether you believe what I'm saying is not my problem. Your sister is my problem. Has she made contact with you? Told you anything about her plans or whereabouts?"

"No!" Gemma responds, incredulously. "I thought she was dead until two minutes ago."

Byer retrieves the pictures, sliding them back into the folder. "I need you to tell me everything about your sister. Remember your last conversations, her behavior, anything she might have said to you."

Gemma shakes her head, "No."

"You need to consider very carefully what you are saying, Miss Shearing." Byer's voice was authoritative as he continued.

Gemma could tell he was used to people following his orders and she was also pretty sure he did not make idol threats, but he made one too many mistakes bringing her here like this. "You're wrong about her," she shook her head, meeting the cold blue eyes. "And I refuse to sit here and be interrogated like this. Uncuff me...I know my rights, you can't just abduct me from my house and cuff me to a chair. Where am I? I want to speak to a lawyer." She glares at him. "Let me out of here, now."

"Your sister has been branded a terrorist and you don't want to be painted with the same brush; in America terrorists have no rights and traitors get the death sentence." Byer smirks, shaking his head. "Miss Shearing, this is a matter of national security. I can do whatever I want." He got to his feet, picking up the attaché case. "When I return, perhaps you'll be feeling a little bit more talkative."

Gemma's protests fall on deaf ears as Byer leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Gemma stares at the wall, trying to make sense of the things he just said to her. Marta is alive, this time she does laugh even as tears fill her eyes. "Oh, baby sister." She sighs, "What kind of trouble are you in?"

Nothing else makes sense, but Marta alive even like this makes Gemma's heart beat normally for the first time in three days. What that man was asking her to believe made no logical sense. Marta couldn't possibly be responsible for the things Byer is accusing her of. She is not even sure her sister knows how to fire a gun; let alone kill another human being. This was the six year-old that had nearly been hit by a car trying to help a caterpillar cross the road; there was no way she was capable of out-right murder.

Unfortunately, it did not seem like Byer was going to be very receptive of that profile of Marta Shearing; which meant she was being held here in the hopes that she might betray her sister by giving them information. Maybe, if they had come to her and explained the situation she might have helped them with information, but snatching her from her home the way they had only closed that door. Gemma is smart enough to put two and two together and get four; if they found Marta she would be tried as a terrorist and a traitor. Which would mean death, as Byer so cockily informed Gemma. Marta was free, in trouble and undoubtedly being hunted, but free. That was good enough for Gemma at least it was a chance that her sister could live free.

Gemma was another story; no one knew where she was and she had no intension of endangering her sister. The elation she felt over learning about Marta's resurrection quickly dissipated.

She was in deep trouble.

Marta Shearing jerked upright, a scream caught in the back of her throat. She is covered in a cold sweat, her heart pounding in her chest. Everything around her is dark and for a moment she feels like she might still be caught in the grips of the nightmare she prays she has just woken from. Nothing is familiar, not the smell of the place or the feeling, not the thin sheet that is tangled around her legs. The only thing that feels real is the nightmare she just came out of: the feeling of panic, the terror of running for her life, the press of cold metal against her temple.

Someone lays a hand on her shoulder and Marta cries out in surprise, recoiling from the touch. "Whoa, Doc, it's just me." For the first time, something is familiar. That voice. Marta feels her heartbeat begin to slow, her breath comes easier now. She knows that voice, that man. "I didn't mean to scare you." Aaron apologizes, his voice soft in the darkness of the room.

Marta shakes her head, brushing her tangled hair away from her face. "It wasn't you…I…I had a nightmare." She remembers where she is now. She can feel the cool metal of the ship beneath her body, the gentle rocking of the waves as they move through the endless ocean, hopefully away from the people who want to kill them. Unfortunately, some elements of her nightmare are real.

Slowly, Aaron reaches for her again, resting his hand over hers. This time, she does not move away. "Want to talk about it?" He asks gently, threading their fingers together. This is the only embrace they have ever shared, this tangling of fingers. It has become a security blanket for Aaron, a safety net. The feel of her hand in his is enough to make everything okay. He hopes it does the same for Marta.

Marta swallows and shakes her head again. "No. Just…" She closes her eyes against the memories. It was only a dream but it feels real. It could become real at any time. Them being hunted like animals. Aaron shot down like a dog by a bullet meant for her, too. "No."

Aaron squeezes her hand reassuringly. "Try and go back to sleep, Doc. You need to rest." This is the first real reprieve they have had since leaving the States. He can see the exhaustion in her face; he knows how tired she must be.

"I'm not sure I can." Marta confesses. She is not sure she wants to close her eyes only to watch his curiously handsome face go slack in death from a bullet bloom in the center of his forehead.

Aaron gives her a faint smile and she feels relieve. His features are different now, more comforting. And she is not sure if it is because he has a name instead of a number or if she just likes the way he looks when he smiles that boyish, charming smile.

"I'm here." His voice is gruff and low, a promise to keep her safe and for now, that is enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two **

Marta is surprised at how quickly she develops sea legs. She was never one for water sports, never spent Saturdays at the lake with her friends or went on spring break cruises with her girlfriends. But in only three days, she feels like she has completely adapted to life on the open sea; it is invigorating. The night before, they went through a few hours of rough weather and she didn't get nearly as sick as she suspected she would, which was a blessing because she really didn't want Aaron to witness her throwing up over the railing.

Stepping off the fishing boat, Marta stumbles slightly, not used to _terra firma_. Aaron's strong hand steadies her briefly before sliding to her back. "You okay there, Doc?" He asks, with an arched eyebrow.

"Fine," she breathes, "Just readjusting." Marta smiles a little as Aaron holds out his hand out for her. Without hesitation, Marta takes his hand and presses her palm against his. Licking her lips she ignores her belly and the odd little flip it does at the strength of his grip. They make their way through the thick crowd of people gathered around the docks and no one pays them any attention. Everyone is too busy, too focused on loading or unloading the various vessels docked to worry about a couple of Americans out for a bit of sight-seeing.

It is organized chaos and it jangles Marta's nerves as they weave their way through the sea of humanity. The air is filled with the smells of the unwashed masses and compounded by the scents that make up the ocean; it smells of salt, fish and oil and it makes Marta's head spin a little. After three days of nothing but fresh air and sunshine, being surrounded by all these people is more than a little overwhelming. Especially considering the price they have on their heads.

Marta was surprised when Aaron suggested they dock with the fisherman and his sons in one of the larger port cities of Vietnam instead of finding a nice little island somewhere and living out the rest of their lives like _The Blue Lagoon._ Marta would have thought that would be more their style, at least for a while, considering the amount of people who wanted them dead. But who was she to argue with Aaron's planning? He had not steered her wrong yet and that was all that mattered at the moment. Marta would have laughed in the face of anyone saying she would trust a program participant the way she trusts Aaron, but then he wasn't just a number to her any longer and that made all the difference.

It quickly becomes clear to her why Aaron didn't baulk at the idea of separating from the ship in such a densely populated place: there are so many people packed in around them that Marta has the feeling she would lose Aaron if he wasn't holding her hand and pulling her through the crush. Those searching for them would have to be extremely lucky to pick them out of any security footage the ghetto-esque area might have and while Marta has not been feeling extremely lucky recently, she does like their odds in this scenario at least.

They still keep their heads down and move quickly and confidently along the thorough fare. Marta is envious because, somehow, Aaron makes natural look easy. He is completely casual as he picks their path while remaining nondescript. Marta feels like she has 'Guilty' written all over her face and her stomach tightens in fear that anyone who looked her way would be thinking _geez, what's _that _woman running from_? They would not be able to guess because it was too inconceivable, but the fear is there a tight ball trying to swallow her whole.

Aaron manages to talk their way onto the back of a truck heading into the closet town and Marta spends the next hour and a half wedged in between two crates of smelly fish. She definitely hates the aroma wafting around her but trying not to breathe too deeply only makes her light headed. Glaring at Aaron, as he smirks knowingly from the other side of the truck bed, Marta wonders if he chose the truck just to watch her turn green and pass out from lack of oxygen.

She hopes, a little vindictively that one of the massive pot holes they're constantly bumping through will send him toppling into a wooden crate full of fish guts, but changes her mind almost as soon as the thought surfaces; she does not want to smell fish for the rest of the night. Then they hit a pothole and one of the crates shift and Aaron quickly rights it avoiding the sloppy, fish juices that dribble over the side. The man makes everything look easy, damn it, including this hellish truck ride through the farmlands of Vietnam.

Marta always wanted to travel; see the world and experience new and exciting cultures but she never thought she would be doing it like this. She would not call what they are doing right now traveling it was more like the scenic-escape route from hell. She thinks that if this were a real vacation she would be suing the travel agency and that puts a smile on her face.

"What," Aaron asks when he sees the slight lift in her lips.

"Just thinking we need to fire the tour guide is all," She gestures to the crates, "Our traveling companions are a bunch of cold fish and there isn't a decent conversation to be had."

Aaron's laugh is unexpected and somehow she never expected him to have a sense of humor. There is so much about him she over looked and it wipes the smile from her face and her eyes grow sad. Aaron sighs almost as soon as he mood changes and it is disconcerting that he should know her moods so completely just by looking in her eyes.

They hear the bustling city before they see it and Marta is inclined to forgo the bustling hub and just find the tiniest corner of the world they can possible find and hide out there until Aaron Cross, Dr. Marta Shearing and Outcome are forgotten. Finally arriving in the densely packed city, it is all Marta can do to keep from throwing herself out of the bed of the truck. The heat has increased the pungent odor of dead and quickly decaying fish. She has never been a fan of seafood and she doubts she ever will be able to stand the smell of fish again.

Aaron helps the other men unload the truck in order to thank them for the ride but she can tell that he would prefer to be on the move. She can see the tension in his face and shoulders, the way his eyes are constantly scanning the area around them as he effortlessly lifts and carries crates. Marta almost asks him if everything is okay when he freezes in the middle of lifting a crate, his eyes are cold and calculating as he looks off into the distance, but she does not want to distract him from whatever has made him hyper-alert.

Instead she sits on the curb beside the truck, her own body taut with tension as she takes in her surroundings and finds nothing she would not expect to see, but Aaron only goes back to lifting the crate. They seem to be parked in the alley of some large outdoor market and there are buildings on every side. Marta turns and, from what she can tell, there is nothing except a warren of streets twisting around each building with people going about their business. The dingy streets have plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in and directions to run if need be, but Marta remembers the chaos of trying to flee the police in Manila. One wrong turn ended up with her sandwiched between two police officers who would have gladly wounded her or taken her in.

Marta can hear the sounds of hundreds of voices, mixing together in a clamor that she cannot understand. People are shouting, laughing, chatting, all going about their daily lives and she envies them. She used to be one of those people, moving through life focused only on the things going on in her own universe. Aaron accused her of being naïve, but she wasn't, not by any means. She had seen on a subconscious level what was going on in the program, but she had purposefully put blinders on. Over the past few days she learned exactly how dangerous ignoring her gut was. She had not questioned the inconsistencies and now she was learning how much she clearly didn't know about the lab and the programs run there.

Turning back to Aaron she thinks he has never been oblivious a day in his life; at least not in since he began in the training. Even before that she thinks he probably knew more about the grimy details of the world than she ever would. Aaron shakes hands with the driver of the truck and he smiles as he gestures off into the city. The language is different and Marta finds herself amazed at the fluidity of the words he speaks.

After a few minutes conversing back and forth in rapid succession Aaron finally comes over to her, offering her his hand and pulling her easily to her feet. It is the most natural thing, him offering his and and her taking it, a comforting habit that Aaron allows. He keeps his hand around hers and Marta is glad that they have this; it is the new normal.

"So what now," She asks, looking over at him as they move away from the truck. He is still a little tense, but he is relaxing more and more the farther they get away from the market.

"We find a place to lie low for a bit." Aaron responds, easily weaving around shoppers and vendors, waving away their desperate pleas and pushy demands that they buy something. "We need supplies."

Marta looks down at herself, at the wrinkled black shirt that was borrowed from the fisherman and altered to replace the torn and bloody tank-top she'd come to Manila in. It is stiff with three days' worth of sweat, grime and salt water. "We need clothes," she mutters.

Aaron gives her a good-natured nudge as he proclaims, "You look fine, Doc." But he doesn't dispute her words. They do need clothes. They need to look like they belong here or at least like they planned on being there.

Aaron finds a little hole in the wall place to rent a room for the night and though Marta cannot understand any of the exchange going on between the woman behind the counter and Aaron, she gathers enough from the woman's face to assume that tourists coming to stay in a place like this aren't a common occurrence. Which is understandable; the place looks like the sort of spot that only locals would frequent. It was not opulently appointed and there was no grandeur about the place, but it appeared cleaner than the place they stayed in at Manila and that's enough for Marta.

"I'm glad the program spent all that money teaching you foreign languages." Marta says as they step into their rented room. "I barely got through two years of Spanish in college."

Aaron tosses their backpack onto the singular mattress in the room. "Told you that you were better off sticking with me," he teases.

Marta quirked an eyebrow, "Yeah, I think that's pretty obvious," she scoffs with a roll of her eyes.

Aaron unzips the backpack and pulls out the carefully folded jacket he stashed inside after they got on the fishing boat. It took a pretty heavy beating in Manila but the contents he extracts after cutting a small slit in the seam is perfectly intact. Marta picks up one of the passports he sets down on the mattress and flips it open. It is for a woman named Dakota Hastings. The other woman's information is typed neatly beside the empty space where a picture would go except that the hair and eye color is Marta's and she has the feeling she will be calling herself Dakota Hastings at some point in the future.

"Why do you have all these passports?" Marta questions, setting the one she was looking at back on the bed.

"Gotta be prepared Doc," Aaron responds absently, his attention on the money in his hands. He counts a few bills out of the stack, frowning as he gauges how much they will need and how much a vacationing couple should be carrying.

Marta smirks, as she eyes him speculatively. "I think masquerading as a woman would definitely throw Outcome off your trail. You have perfectly shaped lips; red will definitely be your color."

Aaron barks out a short laugh, looking at her with a smile on his face. "They do train us to be prepared no matter the scenario." He remarks. His face gets a little more serious. "I plan on keeping you with me, Doc." His blue eyes find hers and Marta can read the implications there, his unspoken words. He has promised to keep her safe, to keep them together, to get them through this, and he will or he will die trying.

Marta smiles faintly. "I know." She says softly.

They stand for a moment with a heavy silence between them and Marta feels like one of them should be doing something and she almost goes to him, the half formed thought of his arms around her holding her until everything else about this is just a bad dream makes her heart skip a beat. It would be so easy and yet utterly complicated. She has lost everything from her former life except for him and she is scared of losing him.

So, she hesitates, just like she always does when she wants to take Aaron's hand or press her lips to his. She is afraid that if she crosses that line, she will be crossing it alone. Because what if that is not what this is between them; this tingling, awareness between them, what if she is nothing more than an obligation?

Finally, the silence is broken when Aaron moves to put the passports and most of the money back into the jacket. Marta is aware that he has been watching her, reading her face as these thoughts slit through her mind and she swallows in abject terror that her need is as plainly writ across her face as the Earth is round. He shoves the jacket back into the pack and pulls out a wallet.

"I'll be back soon, definitely within the hour." He does not look at her as he puts the money into the billfold.

Marta gives him a shrewd look. "So, I am just supposed to wait here like a good little girl," she asks archly as she shakes her head. "I don't think so. I want to come with you."

"It would be safer to stay here," Aaron points out, but his voice doesn't have that finite '_look I'm not arguing about this with you'_ tone he used in the car in Maryland, so Marta thinks he is not 100% averse to Marta tagging along on his impromptu shopping spree.

"I'll go stir-crazy if I just sit around and wait for you to come back," she points out as she tries to tidy her hair in the aged mirror hanging over the sink. "I'll drive myself crazy thinking about all the things that could go wrong and worrying what might be happening to you." She can see he is wavering and moves in for the kill, so to speak. "Besides, I don't exactly trust your taste in clothes."

Aaron smiles and Marta feels heat crawl up her body. She likes the way that little gesture, just a few twitches of his facial muscles lightens his normally stony exterior. He appears relaxed and boyish when he lets his emotions bleed through his training. "I think you might have a point there. That's one thing I haven't been trained in."

They leave the room together and Aaron puts his arm around her shoulders, like any husband would, as they walk through the bustling market. For a few minutes Marta stops worrying about snipers and engineered government agents. She doesn't understand how just letting it all go for a few minutes makes everything feel less out of control, but it does.

Gemma's wrists and ankles are raw and throbbing from the cuffs and her stubborn inability to quit tugging at her restraints. It is not like she actually expects that she is going to suddenly be able to free herself. She figures this is what people mean when they talk about the definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Marta would have already been explaining in mind-numbing detail exactly what Einstein meant when he said that.

Gemma isn't entirely sure how long she's been in this room but it's starting to feel like a lifetime. The fluorescent lights are constantly buzzing overhead so she has no concept of the passage of time. No window framing the rising sun or skylight marking the noon hour, just cold flickering man generated light. She dozes off a few times but only for a few moments and she wants to cry every time she opens her eyes and finds herself in this horrible little room. No one but that prick Byer has come into the room and he has only done so intermittently. His eyes are without pity as he badgered, poked and prodded her for information about Marta that didn't exist and she would not give him if it did. Even if her sister _was_ a terrorist, which was still the craziest thing Gemma could think of, even given her current situation, Gemma would tell him where to go and exactly how to get there. She refused to give that asshole anything. She would never sell Marta out, especially not to a creep like Byer.

Her stomach starts to rumble and Gemma sighs, pressing her forehead against the cool metal of the table in front of her. Right about now Gemma was kicking herself for not eating Wong's spicy beef and noodles when she had the chance, but then her sister had been dead and food was the last thing she ever wanted to think about. She can't believe her body is thinking about food at a time like this and on top of her stomach turning on itself she also really had to pee. Clearly, her body was not taking her plight as seriously as it should and it clearly had no understanding of the word 'kidnapped.'

Gemma's head is still pressed against the surface of the table when she hears the door open. She doesn't bother to acknowledge Byer; he can kiss her ass at this point.

"Have we lost you, Miss Shearing?" Byer remarks snidely and Gemma wishes her hands were free just so she could flick him off, but then he might think that was her coming apart and that was not acceptable at this point.

Byer sits down in front of her and Gemma finally lifts her head. "I have to go to the bathroom." She informs him frankly.

Byer ignores her. "Where's your sister?" He questions, like he hasn't asked her that a thousand times already. "What's her next step?"

"Left," she says cocking her head to the right and then adds, "And then right most likely. Unless of course she isn't walking and then I would have to say she doesn't have one."

"You think this is funny," Byer asks with a distinct air of frustration. She smirks inwardly at having scratched the surface of his cold, calculating exterior. Who knew one woman could be such a pain in the ass, she thinks enjoying the slight victory over her captor.

"I think you are grasping at straws and it must burn your biscuit that you can't coerce me into lying about my sister. Now, get me a damned bathroom," Gemma screams this last, unable to stop herself.

Until now she has kept her answers brief, if she bothered to answer him at all. Now, she just can't take it. "I don't know where she is! I don't know what she's doing!" She pauses, staring at the smirk on Byer's face. He must think he has finally broken her so she adds acidly, "But I do know my sister is _not_ a terrorist. If I had my guess," she paused to run her eyes over the loathsome man, "It would be that the terrorist wears your brand of god awful aftershave!"

Byer is silent, just staring at her for a long time before he shrugs his shoulders. "Okay, Miss Shearing." He gets to his feet and Gemma stares at him thinking she let her mouth write a check she cannot afford to cash. His face is so placid she thinks maybe he is going to let her go, but then she remembers that this is the man that told her that Marta was dead. He should be pissed because she just accused him of being a terrorist, but he seemed to mellow after her vindictive words.

Byer comes around to her chair and pulls a ring of keys out of his back pocket. Gemma thinks she might start crying. He undoes the cuffs on her right wrist and ankle and unhooks the left cuffs from the chair. She is free, but before Gemma can say anything, he is pulling her arms behind her back and cuffing her hands all over again.

"What-" Gemma sputters but she does not have the energy to form a full sentence.

"Gemma Shearing you are under arrest by order of the United States government for aiding and abetting a known terrorist." Byer recites as he starts to pull her roughly toward the door. Her legs are having a hard time working after being cuffed to a chair for so long but he does not seem to care he just drags her along behind him.

"That's a lie!" Gemma shouts. "I haven't done anything. And neither has my sister! Get your hands off me. I have rights!" They walk down a long dark hallway and then they are entering a room full of murmuring and buzzing. The volume explodes as they step inside and Gemma can hear snatches of the droning voice of a woman at the podium, "Gemma Shearing, a forty year old woman currently residing in Montreal has just been arrested for allegedly conspiring to commit terrorist actions…"

Byer scoffs and shakes his head with a nasty smile, "Terrorists don't have rights, Miss Shearing."


	3. Chapter 3

**Three **

Their first evening in the city passes without incident and Aaron breathes a sigh of relief when the sense of being watched does not return. He is almost certain he felt eyes on him at the market earlier, but he reasons that if an asset or other agent had found them they would have attacked while they were alone in the small room. They shop in the market and Aaron pretends to be the long-suffering husband waiting for his wife to finish trying on new clothes, though he is too focused on constantly checking out their surroundings to actually feel bored about just sitting around. The last thing he wants is for them to be caught unawares, especially since he can see Marta finally start to loosen up; he does not want to chase that smile away. Soon enough it will be stomped out of her as they pick-up and leave for the next busy town.

They eat in a restaurant for the first time since they have been together at a small, hole-in-the-wall place near their room and he watches as Marta tries and he knows she is forcing herself to get over her aversion of trying unfamiliar foods. So, he tempts her with morsels while she jokes, "I'm more of a fast food and frozen dinners kind of girl." It is something he already knows but does not want to disturb her with his knowledge of her eating habits.

"It is entirely the lab's fault," she explains as he offers her a bite of the steamed bun filled with Asian style pork.

"The lab made you crave greasy burgers and too salty frenched fries," he asks incredulously.

"No," she laughs, too, it does seem ridiculous when she thinks about it. "No, I was always getting called to the lab at such odd times and when I was there I had so much work to do. I didn't have time to cook real food."

Aaron picks up a piece of squid and pops it into his mouth after dipping it in an aneurism-inducing hot sauce. Marta frowns, "What is that," she asks as he swirls a piece of seafood in the sauce.

He debates whether or not to tell her but realizes by the disgusted look on her face she really doesn't want to know. So, he tells her so.

"I just hate to eat anything I can't pronounce," she sniffs and pokes a finger into the sauce and puts it in her mouth before he can stop her. She whimpers and he has to restrain himself from laughing as she puts a hand on her head as if trying to hold the top on. "Oh, my god, my brain just tried to jump out of my skull! What the hell is that," she demands as tears stream from the corners of her dark eyes.

"A mixture of daikon radish and horseradish," he smirks as he scoops up a dollop and pops it into his mouth.

"You," she pokes him in the shoulder as she glares at him, "Are insane and that stuff should come with a warning."

"It does," he laughed. "Here, try another steamed bun," he offers her one of the few items she did not grimace at when he feed it to her.

By the time they return to the room, the sun has set and Marta looks as if she is ready to sleep for at least the next few days. He knows she still isn't sleeping well and jumping through time zones and fighting for her life only make it worse.

Tonight, she seems more relaxed than she has since she walked away from the massacre in the lab and he thinks she just might be able to sleep through the night for once. There is no debate over the singular queen bed in the room; neither one of them is going to argue for sleeping alone. So, Marta falls asleep curled around Aaron's body and does not wake until he stirs the next morning.

After they both take tepid showers in the room's tiny bathroom, Aaron suggests heading back into town and trying to find an Internet café or somewhere they can access the world wide web long enough to see if they are still making the news or not. He doubts that any local channels in the area are running reports about him and Marta, which was one of the reasons he felt comfortable enough to go somewhere where they'd be surrounded by people. It is highly unlikely that any of these people will have seen their faces on TV.

They find a coffee shop with a few computers that allow patrons access if they pay for the minute and order coffee and a bowl of xoi to share, though Aaron can tell that Marta might be reaching her limit for trying nontraditional foods; especially for breakfast.

Marta sits beside him, sipping on her coffee while he gets the Internet up and running. Aaron decides to bite the bullet and go straight to CNN; he's not sure if he and Marta will have made the national news yet, even though Pamela Landy, Jason Bourne and Treadstone are making the rounds. Pretty soon the powers-that-be, i.e. Eric Byer would run out of people to throw to the wolves.

The front page loads and beneath a video is the headline **Woman Arrested in Connection with Terrorist Attacks**. Aaron does not recognize the woman but he is relieved the first picture to load is not himself or the Doc.

"Oh my God," Marta practically chokes on her coffee, nearly knocking the cup over in her hurry to put it down, and grab the mouse. She doesn't seem to care that the several patrons in the shop have turned to stare at her. "Oh my God," she says again and Aaron looks at the screen, trying to see whatever it is that she is seeing. "That's my sister," Marta presses her hand to her mouth, but her words are still too loud in the busy cafe.

Aaron's eyes go wide and then he is squinting at the woman on the computer screen. He can see the resemblance between them now that he is looking; she is tall, with Marta's dark hair and lips. She is pretty but in a plain forgettable way she does not have that something that Marta exuded which Aaron felt in the depths of his being. It was plain by studying the woman as she was drug past the camera that Byer was holding to his usual interrogation ritual: deprivation of all basic human needs and humiliation. Aaron is sad to realize the woman's mental fortitude is failing and her face betrays her fear. Not that Aaron can blame her, given the fact that she's standing in the company of Eric Byer with her hands cuffed behind her back, apparently being accused of participating in a terrorist plot.

Before he knows what she is about Marta clicks the play button and this is not a wise decision they are too exposed. The image on the screen jumps to one of a CNN correspondent, who is standing in front of the building where this press conference is behind held.

"Gemma Shearing, a forty year old woman currently residing in Montreal has just been arrested, for allegedly conspiring against the American people. This latest in a long string of recent terrorist related arrests is thought to be related to the virus stolen from Sterlsyn Morlanta by Dr. Marta Shearing, the sole survivor of a tragic workplace shooting which left six dead along with the shooter, Dr. Donald Foite, who committed suicide at the scene.

"Shearing is the older sister of this woman," a photograph of Marta replaced the face of the reporter, "Dr. Marta Shearing, who it was believed died in a house fire just days after surviving the events at her lab is now thought to be alive and is wanted in connection with the deaths of the federal agents, whose bodies were recovered from her Maryland home."

Aaron tensed when his own picture is suddenly staring back at him; glancing over his shoulder he quickly X'd out of the window and closes the laptop with a snap. There are two people glancing in their direction, but he can't tell if they've been paying close attention to what is on the screen. Suddenly, Aaron feels exposed and the hair on the back of his neck rises and he knows, without seeing them, that someone is watching him.

"What…I was…" Marta sputters, surprised by his sudden behavior. "I want to watch that!" She protests, and her voice is a little too loud for Aaron's liking. He resists the urge to jerk her from her seat and drag her from the crowded café because that will just make them more noticeable. Marta is visibly upset and attracting more than enough attention, which is the last thing he wants at the moment.

He suddenly feels like they're very exposed, like the very act of watching that news report has somehow brought the wolves' right to their door. Standing to his feet Aaron stuffs the laptop into his pack and then takes Marta's arm pulling her up as well. "We need to go now." He does not explain and he hopes she waits until they have distance from the shop before she comes unhinged. He pulls her close to him as they leave the coffee shop, as though that little gesture can make what they've just seen go away. She is thankfully silent until they are outside, but it does not last long enough for them to escape and Aaron's tension ratchets up a couple notches as Marta struggles to pull free from his grasp.

It makes his temper flair that she would choose now to balk against him, now, when they were in danger, because Aaron can feel the eyes on them even now. Someone inside that coffee shop knows who they are; Aaron is sure of that. Letting his eyes study the people visible through the window he tenses as a man near the back of the room ducks into the kitchen. Letting her pull out of his embrace-like hold Aaron takes her upper arm and begins pulling her toward the room.

She pulls away from him when they are only a handful of steps from the coffee shop and Aaron does not hesitate to reach for her and tightening his grip until it is bruising-ly tight. He hates that he is probably hurting her, but figures better a few finger shaped bruises than a bullet, from the asset, through the head.

She is fighting him on every step and he cannot understand her sudden irrational behavior. Even in Maryland she had verbally balked but she had understood the very real danger they were in. Now, she is acting erratically and though she was not screaming at him, Aaron thinks her actions speak louder than words to get them noticed as they walk quickly down the street. She was going to get them killed and her lack of trust rankled.

Her sister is in danger and he knew that would create an emotional response in Marta; hell he had used the very same response back in that hotel when he told Marta contacting her sister would make her a target. He had not shared that Byer would most-likely make it personal by going after the woman anyway, because he needed Marta's head in the game. Honestly, Aaron hoped the bastard would want to avoid the extra complication Marta's sister would bring to the mix, but it looked like Byer was intent to use the woman against her sister and Aaron would not let him succeed.

Marta is shaking with fear and rage, but at least she is finally not pulling against his hold as they make their way back to the room, but he does not slow down because he feels like they are wearing targets on their backs. The man back there might have been an employee, but Aaron does not think so because he recognized something in the way the man moved that makes Aaron paranoid.

Once they are back to the room Aaron opens the door and shoves her in before checking the hallway again and closing the door behind them. She does not wait until the door is closed before she is demanding, "I need to see the rest of that report." Marta's eyes are wild and Aaron thinks Byer's really knew where to strike. Frankly, Aaron thought, until the Doc Aaron never had anyone or anything that mattered enough to elicit this type of emotion; that is probably why the greens and blues were so necessary in the program.

"That's my sister, she's in danger. I…I need to help her...I…we have to do something."

Marta looks fierce; as if she could just get on the next plane and walk right up to Eric Byer and claw his eyes out like a she-cat. Aaron takes her hand; it has calmed her before, he tries to guide her to the bed. Marta follows but he can still feel resistance from her. "I understand," he murmurs, soothingly, but he really doesn't. "But it's not safe to stay here anymore. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible." He's still trying to shake the feeling that they're being watched, trying to assure himself that he really is just being paranoid. Because if there was someone out there watching them, they would be dead already, not cowering in their room.

Aaron moves to the window and lifts the curtain away just enough to see the street below; he doesn't see anyone, but just because there's no one there doesn't mean they can stay. Loitering and debating until they are out of options. Anyone at the coffee shop could have seen their pictures on the screen; the local police force could be getting pictures e-mailed their way at this very moment. Aaron is starting to feel foolish for coming here at all. After Manila, coming into Vietnam was pretty much the only logical choice and maybe that was the problem: Aaron was following his training. He froze becoming very still. All assets went through the same training and every damned one of them would have made the trek to Vietnam after Manila.

"Pack," he growls, whirling around as he grabs up their packs and tosses Marta's onto the bed beside her. Anyone would be able to deduce their current location. And, on top of everything, there is now the new problem of Marta's sister to deal with. Gemma Shearing is a problem Aaron doesn't feel equipped to handle.

Aaron starts filling his pack with the supplies they purchased yesterday at the market. He could not believe that he let himself slip into a false sense of security, to imagine them staying here for a few days, finally getting to breathe. Looking up as he stuffs a shirt into the pack Aaron finds Marta just watching him, making no move to gather her things together. Her eyes betray the fact that her mind is a million miles away and it doesn't take a genius to guess exactly what she is thinking of. "Marta…"

His voice seems to snap her back to the present and she focuses on him, her brow knitting, "Aaron…They have my sister." She says this as though he wasn't sitting next to her watching that report. Maybe she hopes saying the words will somehow make it easier for him to understand or maybe she thinks he does understand; either way she is still standing motionless or Aaron can feel his skin crawl with annoyance.

"I know." Aaron says gently, putting the backpack down on the bed and stepping toward her. "I'm sorry."

"What are we going to do?" Marta questions, her eyes round and pleading as she looks up at him. She is begging him to solve this problem the way he has been able to solve every other problem they have faced together. She trusts him he can see it in her dark eyes and having someone's trust is foreign to Aaron; it's a burden he's not sure he can live up to.

Aaron sighs, "Right now, Doc, we have to get out of here. We can't stay here any longer, it's not safe. Once we have a place to lay low that isn't compromised we can talk about your sister."

Marta nods and he thinks she understands, but her next words contradict this. "We've got to get to Washington." She says this simply, like it's a given. She says it as if they have no other choice. Aaron's face must betray how horrible that idea is because Marta's brow furrows and her eyes narrow, "We have to go. They have my sister."

"Marta, you know-"

"I don't care," her voice is brittle as her eyes fill with tears and fury. "That is _my sister_. I can't just leave her in the hands of those…those people." Marta protests. "They could kill her. She hasn't done anything wrong; the only reason Byer has her at all is because of me." She is pacing erratically now as she continues on with her tirade, "I haven't contacted her…You said she would be safe if I cut ties!" She stomps her foot when she adds, "I walked away once to keep her safe you can't as me to turn my back on her now!"

Aaron feels guilt clawing at his belly because that is exactly what he was prepared to ask her to do. But that guilt only lasts a moment. Things have always been simple in Aaron's world: survive at any costs. Marta has made them more complicated but only marginally so. His mantra is no longer _protect yourself_ but is now _protect Marta_. While he was in the program, he was taught to ignore anything that might get in the way of the goal, including human emotions and collateral damage. That lesson is one he has never forgotten. Right now, the only goal that matters to him is to keep Marta safe and if that means they have to ignore everything else that is being thrown at them, so be it that included Marta's sister. He would not fail in this goal, "It's a trap." Aaron says dumbly, as though Marta has somehow missed that obvious point. "They're using her to draw you out."

Marta shakes her head, "I don't care," her voice is pleading, desperate. "If they want me, they can have me. But I'm not going to let my sister die because I was a coward." She is resolved he can see it in every line of her body. She would give her life for her sister without as much as a backward glance. It is unsettling for him to realize that she would probably trade him for her sister if it came down to the brass tacks.

Now it is Aaron's turn to shake his head. "No, I'm not going to let you turn yourself in." His voice and body language has subtly shifted and he finds it strange that she does not realize the distance creeping in between them. Perhaps, it was always there.

"I didn't ask your permission." Marta says sharply and Aaron blinks in surprise. "You can't honestly expect me just to walk away from her, to let those monsters hold her hostage. This is my sister!"

Aaron gives her a shrewd look and crosses his arms over his chest. The distance is wider now, a chasm, between them when he states flat out, "Well, you can't honestly just expect me to let you go." Marta crosses her arms over her chest this time and the chasm is seconds away from becoming an abyss. "And you are an idiot if you think just because you walk right up to Byer with a fucking bow around your neck he is going to actually let your sister go." He snorts and flicks his eyes over her angry figure. "These are the same people that murdered an entire team of defenseless scientists because Jason Bourne is playing merry heart with their programs!" Shaking his head he continues quietly, almost afraid of voicing the truth, "You know that is not how these people work Marta! He will thank you kindly for making his job easy and then just kill you both."

"Fine," Marta retorts petulantly and Aaron rolls his eyes at her. "At least I'll know that I did something to try and help her!"

"What," he demanded, "Filled her last moments with the knowledge she was used to hurt her sister. You're being stubborn and you aren't thinking clearly." Aaron points out.

Marta throws up her hands in defeat. "How am I supposed to think? My sister is in danger, Aaron, because of me." She presses her hand to her heart and the emotion in her eyes is palpable. "Because of _me_ and if she dies, it will be my fault." She closes her eyes and it is a relief not to see the blatant pain in her gaze. Aaron has never really had to deal with tearful women before and it makes him feel out of control. Uncrossing his arms Aaron moves toward her but she murmurs brokenly, pleadingly, "She's all I have left."

For some reason, that statement from her lips stings, but Aaron tries not to dwell on it. He takes another step toward her, wanting to pull her into his arms and prove her wrong and that he is here. He has the insane need to taste her, he feels it more strongly than he ever has before and he doesn't know if it is because she is breaking his heart or because he has never seen her look so beautiful. "Marta, I'm sorry-"

"No, that's not good enough." Marta's eyes open again and the tears are gone, replaced by anger and determination. "I have to do something. My sister would never abandon me if I needed her. I'm not going to leave her."

Aaron wants to put his first through the wall. He wants to shatter the lamp and break the mirror above the bathroom sink. But that won't solve the problem, it won't make things better. He wishes he could have just five minutes alone with Byer, because he seriously thinks he could tear the man apart. He should have prepared her; it wasn't as if Aaron did not know this was coming. He always knew that Outcome would never let the two of them just walk away into the sunset. Byer set the trap with the choicest morsel and then sat back waiting for Marta to try and grab it from under his nose and when she did Byer would win, because he would not just be getting Marta, he would be getting Aaron Cross, too.

Aaron clinches his fists, trying to fight down the anger and helplessness that is coursing through his veins like a virus, threatening to unmake him. He cannot lose Marta; he will not let her give herself up any more than he can keep her from trying to turn herself in, foolishly, to save her sister. However, much she would hate him for what he was about to say Aaron said the words anyway. Better her hatred than her blood on his hands at least she would be alive. "Marta, no," Aaron swallows, forcing himself to meet her eyes. "I'm not going to let you put yourself in danger."

"You can't tell me what I can and can't do, Aaron." Marta informs him defiantly. "I don't know why we're even still arguing about this."

Aaron throws up his hands in frustration, "Because I won't let them kill you!" He shouts. He doesn't mean to raise his voice at her but she's not bringing out the best in him right now. "This is stupid!"

"I don't care! Why don't you understand that?" Marta shouts back at him. "She's my family I'm sorry that you don't have someone in your life that cares whether you ever come home or not! But _I _do care if my sister rots in some prison because of me."

It is strange the pain in his chest and Aaron thinks that it is not unlike being shot. It all comes home to him in that moment. All the time he spent flirting and baiting her he was nothing except a number; a useful tool to be poked, prodded, scraped and bled. _Five_, she doesn't call him that any more, but maybe she should have. It was a terribly simple realization that if Byer had not sent someone to kill her she would have never even known his name. She only knew it now because he was useful. They weren't in the lab any more, but she still knew just where to scrape to make him bleed.

Marta's eyes are wide and her hand is covering her mouth. She must not have meant to reveal his value in this little team they were forced to be. The words already hang between them and he doesn't know if she can see his thoughts written on his face and regrets her words or just the timing of the revelation. Marta takes a step toward him but Aaron moves away from her and the tentative hand reaching for his.

"Aaron," She reaches for him again but he turns away from her to pack her things

"Five," he murmurs, feeling a little childish, as he thrusts a couple bottles of water into her pack, "You wouldn't want to humanize the experiment."

"I don't know why I said that. I don't…" She sounds miserable and even as hurt as he is by the realization that he is still just a thing in her eyes. He wants to make her feel better. I…I'm sorry."

"It is fine," Aaron says and ten minutes earlier he might have added an affectionate Doc but now his voice is colder and more clipped than he has ever spoken to her, before.

He sounds unfamiliar even to himself as he assures her in a deadly tone, "I'll get your sister, but I have to plan and map it all out." He throws her pack at her feet and pulls his own onto his back. Moving to the door Aaron checks the clip in his gun and then pushes it into the back of his jeans. "We have to move," he orders as he opens the door and checks the hall and then turns back toward her. She has not moved to even pick up her pack, "Now, Dr. Shearing!"

Marta doesn't move for a moment and he thinks she is about to fight him some more, but why? He already told her he would get her sister what could she possibly find to argue about now? His shoulders are tense and he can see the way she eyes him warily. His hands clinch into fists when she swallows and her eyes meet his. There are tears in her eyes and it doesn't register that they may be for him. The abyss is no longer yawning it is gulping the distance spread between them.

"I didn't mean it." She says weakly.

Kenneth Kitsom was an old hand at being dismissed; tenderness always had a price and people always looked out for number one. For Aaron Cross it was understood that he had a purpose and little else, but that small part of him that was still Kenneth Kitsom, deep down, it was almost Pavlovian the way he panted after any crumb she would give him.

."It doesn't matter." He knows the coldness in his eyes, the hardness of his face disturbs her, but she has drawn a line. As petulant as that makes him he cannot change is protective instincts. "Get your things we have wasted enough time here."

They don't bother to check-out they just head into the crowded streets outside. Aaron does not reach for her hand this time and his strides are quick. When she gets tangled with a small cluster of people he turns and waits impatiently for her to catch up. Aaron leads her back to the wharf and commandeers a small boat. Marta trips as she climbs aboard and he catches her arm helping her get her footing and then he releases her and pilots them out of Vietnam.

Gemma has traded in the metal chair and handcuffs for a tiny cell with two guards posted outside at all times. She figures that's a bit of an improvement but she's not feeling very optimistic. She's exhausted and terrified and she can't see any reprieve in sight. The entire world now thinks she's a terrorist. No one would her now.

As she sits on the thin mattress that makes up her bed and one of only two pieces of "furniture" in her current living quarters, Gemma thinks about her sister. She knows Marta better than anyone, she feels like she knows her beyond the capacity of just being her older sister. But she doesn't know what to think anymore. There's grainy camera footage featuring her sister using a fake passport to leave the country. There's footage of her at a laboratory in Manila with the man known as Aaron Cross, a rouge government agent from the same program as Jason Bourne. Gemma doesn't know much about Bourne or have much of an opinion on all these conspiracy theories that have been playing on the news non-stop recently but she knows enough to know that these men are not the type of people Marta would normally associate herself with. But there's no denying the hard proof, the fact that Marta and Aaron have been seen together several times. Her sister's trail goes cold in Manila; no one has seen her or Aaron since they fled the city after leading police on a wild and dangerous chase. Half dozen men are dead. This just doesn't seem like the Marta she knows.

Gemma wonders if this is what Marta has been hiding all these years. Has she been working for these programs, creating genetic super soldiers? Is this what she's never been able to talk about? Maybe there is more to her sister than she ever knew before.

She wonders if Marta knows that she's been arrested…Because of her. Did Marta care? Gemma can't believe that she wouldn't. They're still family and Marta isn't the heartless machine that Byer and the news are now painting her to be. If Marta knew she was here, then she'd try and do something about it. Gemma has to believe that.

Not that that's much consolation now.

Eric Byer stands in front of a wall of video monitors, his attention on the one featuring live footage from Gemma Shearing's cell. He can already tell he's broken her. Her spirit is gone; she seems resolute in the belief that she can't stop whatever is going to happen to her now. That idea makes Byer smile slightly. That means she'll be so much easier to manipulate now. He's starting to suspect that by the end of the week he'll have her believing with all her heart that her precious baby sister is the root of all evil.

Noah Vosen comes up to stand behind the man, watching the monitor over his shoulder. He does not seem as pleased by Gemma's captivity as Byer. "I hope you know what you're doing."

Byer turns to face the man. "You've always trusted me before." He points out.

"Well, you've never pushed me quite like this before." Vosen responds. "I don't like having our names and faces all over this. And you've locked up an innocent woman; you'd better hope no one pulls to hard on that thread."

Byer just scoffs. "We branded her a terrorist; no one is going to want to touch that with a ten-foot-pole." He says. "Trust me, if this doesn't bring in Shearing, then she's already dead somewhere. She's a doctor; she's not a trained agent. She'll be too emotional to ignore this."

Vosen raises an eyebrow. "What do we care about Shearing for? She's not another Jason Bourne running around, fucking stuff up for us."

"No, but Cross is attached to her. He'll never let her come here alone. We'll have them both before you can recite the Pledge of Allegiance." Byer shakes his head. "Cross should have been put down a long time ago. He thinks too much and that makes him a liability." He and Shearing really are the perfect pair: they're both too emotional, unfortunate assholes who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. He'd almost feel bad for them if they weren't making his life a living hell.

"Then we'll look like the good guys again, capturing a group of wanted terrorists." Byer finishes. "People will start to forget the whole Pamela Landy disaster."

Vosen shakes his head, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I could kill that bitch with my own two hands. Women!"

Byer laughs softly. "They always need a man to clean up their messes." Thankfully, he's just the man for the job.

From Vietnam, there are dozens of logical places they can go, so Aaron feels confident that, if there is someone tracking them, they'll soon lose the trail. He and Marta board a plane for Bangladesh, putting two more of his forged passports to good use. Like when they left for Manila, Aaron and Marta sit separately and don't acknowledge one another as they move through the airport and wait for the flight to take off. Marta finds that she misses his little reassurances, smiles or nods to calm her nerves. She wants to take everything back, to go back to the night before when she fell asleep curled against his body with his arm around her. She'd felt so close to him, so protected. Now he couldn't be farther away.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four **

It's really pure luck that they cross paths at all. Jason Bourne knows what he is, he's accepted his nature grudgingly but at least he's accepted it. He's a lethal weapon, a man tweaked and poked and prodded and engineered to plan, hunt and kill. But even a government machine needs a little luck every once and a while.

Jason certainly hasn't felt like luck has been on his side recently. He'd been willing to disappear and wish for the best, hoping that his plunge into the icy Hudson would finally be enough to convince the program to give up his scent and turn their attention elsewhere. Thanks to Pamela Landy, they should have had their hands full. It didn't take Jason very long to realize that he was wrong, that they would never give up hunting him. They would not stop, at least not until they could stick his head on a pike and bandy it about town as a warning for the rest of the world.

After leaving New York, instincts Jason has long sense given up trying to fight send him toward the Philippines. He has vague memories of spending time there, of fluorescent lights and rough hands. It's really as good a place as any to lay low for a while, keep his head down until he has to move again.

Jason's only there for thirty-six hours before he senses that he's not alone. He notices the other two operatives, can smell the stink of the program on them from a mile away. One is a broad-shouldered, physically enhanced Asian man whose predatory features suggest he's nothing more than a killing machine. The other is a shorter man, lean and shrewd, constantly cataloging his surroundings. The latter is in the company of a woman, which doesn't make any sense to Jason. He thinks it's more than a little sloppy for an operative to be hunting, especially, Jason Bourne, in the company of an untrained woman, and Jason immediately eliminates the man as the prominent threat.

Jason leaves Manila before either of the assassins pick up on his scent and heads to Vietnam. He hopes he'll be able to shake the agents off his trail by crossing the water. Once he gets to Vietnam, there are hundreds of places he can run from there. He has a little time to recuperate from the still seeping wound he received in New York.

It is three days later when Jason senses the presence of one of his ilk. It doesn't take him long to pin-point the threat. It is the lean, blue-eyed agent from manila and his stray puppy of a companion. Jason knows he has stayed longer than he should have but he spent several days warring within him; flight or fight those instinctual decisions that could make or break an asset. He's not going to spend the rest of his life hiding. So, if Treadstone is going to continue to send operatives after him, then he will meet them head on, not cower like a mutt. Jason is confident that he can take out this blue-eyed assassin and his companion; the woman brings back memories of Marie, but Jason squelches them. If the asset does not have any better sense than to bring his woman to a fight he would be an easy mark.

Despite his new resolve, Jason is still surprised when he picks up on their presence in the city. For some reason, a part of him didn't actually believe they would be able to track him here. Clearly, they're all trained from the same vein. Great minds think alike, and all that. Jason takes the time to study the pair while the man helps the fishermen unload their truck.

This operative doesn't behave like anyone else Jason has ever seen before. He's caviler, aloof; he's constantly checking his surroundings, sniffing the air for a threat but he's missed Jason's presence completely. And then there is still the whole thing with the woman he's traveling with. Jason watches them from the window of his apartment as they move off through the market, purchasing supplies and holding hands. Perhaps this is a new tactic, a way of distracting him, getting him to let his guard down. Treadstone is going to have to do better than that.

Jason keeps his distance from the pair, watching as they gallivant around without a care in the world. If the man didn't wear his government brand so plainly, Jason might think that he has made a mistake. But he knows a human weapon when he sees one; he knows how to spot his brothers in the crowd. And he can see that the other man knows he is there, even if he can't seem to identify the threat just yet.

That morning, Jason leaves his room as the sun is warming up the city, debating how to handle this situation. He honestly thinks he could leave Vietnam and lose his pursuers with ease. He's almost positive he could walk right up to the other operative and ask him the time and he'd be none-the-wiser. But Jason doesn't want to take any chances. He needs to neutralize this threat before he learns the hard way how deceptive appearances can be.

Jason is planning the best way to eliminate the threat when dumb luck brings the blue-eyed operative and his pretty companion through the door of the same coffee shop where he has been seated for the past two hours. He almost can't believe the odds. But he knows better than to chock things up to coincidence. He tenses himself, ready for a fight; he would have avoided such a public venue but if that's the way this guy wants to play it than that's what he'll get.

But Jason watches as the operative just orders two coffees and breakfast, following the woman to one of the computers. Jason's almost a little offended. This guy was sent by the same people who have him running across the world, trying to save his life? Maybe he already took out all the heavy guns and now Treadstone is having to send out the rookies.

Jason watches them carefully, intrigued by the exchange he sees between them. The woman is visibly agitated about something and he can tell she's afraid; he can read it in her body language. The operative is tense and Jason can tell he's not bothered by whatever has upset his companion. He knows they're being watched but instead of finding the threat, he just drags the woman out of the coffee shop without so much as a backward glance.

Jason remains at this table and watches them for a bit. It looks like they are having an argument and he can't help but roll his eyes in disgust. Sloppy, it's all so sloppy. He gets up and ducks out through the back door, heading toward the kitchen instead of walking right out in front of the operative. He can tell that the other man is more aware of his presence now than he was before and Jason's not in the mood to push his luck at the moment. He'd prefer to handle this matter privately, away from the prying eyes of the masses and the possibility of the whole thing being caught on camera. Maybe if he can kill the operative without anyone being the wiser, it will send a message to Treadstone that he's a ghost.

The nature of the relationship between these two continues to confuse Jason as he follows them into the airport. It was a calculated risk letting them leave in the small boat that morning, but the asset had immediately angled the boat toward the south-east side of the island where the airport was located, and Jason knew he could catch up to them there. He's starting to get the feeling that this situation is not as black and white as he previously thought and while he's starting to feel less and less like the target, that doesn't mean he's willing to let his guard down. Being hunted and pursued is something he understands; he knows how to handle that. This is something completely unknown and Jason doesn't do well with unknown scenarios.

If someone had asked Jason to describe the relationship between the operative and the woman last night when he was watching them, he would have surmised that there was some sort of romantic bond between them. Maybe they were even lovers. But now, as he watches them move through the tiny airport, preparing to leave the country, he's not quite sure _how_ he would describe their interactions. The operative is painfully easy to read; Jason almost wants to give him some pointers, urge him to remember his training. Jason can tell he's upset but more than that hurt and betrayed.

The fire he saw in the woman yesterday appears to have disappeared. She seems cowed, desperate and maybe even a little scared. Jason is curious in spite of himself. He hasn't been curious in a long time, not about something that wasn't directly related to who he was and what he had done. He knows being curious is dangerous; in his line of work, curiosity really does kill the cat. Jason doesn't want to be the cat. He's not going to let his own curiosity distract him from the fact that the man is an operative and a threat.

Jason discovers they are heading for Bangladesh, another densely packed city where they can temporarily avoid detection. Jason has no idea why they seem to be moving first, instead of tailing him. Maybe they are drawing him out, making him follow and play right into their hands. He is not afraid of much; he'll play their game, at least until it is time to end it.

Of course, he isn't stupid enough to get a ride on the same plane. He'll kill some time in the airport. Jason prefers to be the one in control, especially of situations where he does not hold all the cards.

In a little less than two hours, Aaron and Marta find themselves in a city where neither of them has ever been before. Aaron doesn't seem fazed by this fact, though he doesn't really seem to be fazed by anything anymore. His face is stoic, unreadable, his eyes cold and unfamiliar to Marta as she studies him out of the corner of her eye. His jaw is set, eyes narrowed slightly as he surveys the area around them, plotting out their next move.

The road in front of them is packed tightly with cars, taxis, carts, bicycles and people, all somehow managing to coexist in the snarl. It reminds Marta of the streets of Manila and how they somehow managed to survive that insane chase through the streets, because of Aaron. Everything they've made it through has been because of him. In Manila he had been, tender and vulnerable a man on the cusp of freedom. He had held her hand, smiled into her face and clutched her protectively as they made their escape and yet here was the same man barely acknowledging her in the past three hours.

Her Aaron was replaced with one who looked as if it was a severe inconvenience to wait for her to join him in the terminal or to go through customs. Marta knew she hurt him; Gemma always said she lacked the ability to communicate with people without sticking her foot in her mouth and she was right. It wasn't an excuse, but she had been in shock when they got back to the room and her words were even more destructive than usual. She thinks that she couldn't have made Aaron bleed any more if she had taken a scalpel to his flesh. The flight was nerve racking and Marta found herself trying to think of the perfect thing to say to him, the magic combination of words that will somehow make everything go back to normal.

Unfortunately, that seems to be easier said than done. Aaron flags down a cab and climbs into the backseat without any sort of indication that Marta should do the same, even though she is following him closely. The last thing she wants is to be lost amongst the crush of people so she quickly and clumsily clambers into the seat beside him. Aaron talks briefly with the driver, both of them fumbling for some common language so they can get headed in the right direction. After hearing Aaron speak the language so fluently back in Vietnam, it's weird for Marta to hear him stumbling now. Maybe he's not as familiar with this language. It never occurred to her that Aaron couldn't do everything and the idea that he was not fluent in every language under the sun brings home the fact that Aaron is not a machine, or a god, no matter how much she longed to worship him.

Aaron is human and subject to the same failings as any other man. Or maybe his head just was not in the game.

As the driver navigates through the busy streets, heading toward whatever place Aaron directed him to, Marta slowly reaches her fingers toward Aaron's hand, laying on the seat beside hers. Their fingers touch but he pulls away, folding his hands in his lap as he focuses his attention out the window.

It is like a physical blow and Marta tries not to let it bother her, but her chest is twisted into an aching knot and she so, needed his touch right now. She turns her gaze out the window too, watching as the houses and buildings and kiosks and people pass by. It isn't until she tastes salt that she even realizes she is crying, again, and it pisses her off because she never lets anyone make her cry. Casually, she wipes her fingers over her eyes and focuses her attention out the window. There are so many different people and things to see but she can't seem to focus on any of them. She is not here to be a tourist anyway, so sight-seeing shouldn't matter.

Aaron watches Marta in the reflection of his window, watching as her eyes dart around, trying to take everything in. He hates this silence between them; he wants to tell her it's all okay. Tell her not to cry that he would find her sister. But it is not his job anymore it never was and so he does not reassure her and make everything okay. He is just her experiment, her little science project that learned how to walk and talk and think for itself. He is just her protection, the load gun. She made it abundantly clear that she does not care if he makes it home at the end of the day or not.

The taxi reaches a hotel and Marta gets out while Aaron hands the driver some of the crumpled bills from his pocket. She looks up at the building in front of them, which looks like it might be tumbling down around them at any moment. She really needs to talk to Aaron about their digs; would staying at the Ritz for one night be too much to ask? Not that she and Aaron are doing much talking right now anyway. She thinks that as things stand he might walk away if she complains about the squalid conditions they are living in.

They get a room without much trouble, only this time they aren't playing the role of happy newlyweds. Marta wonders how long this icy silence is going to last. She wonders how long she deserves it. She wonders if they really are going to be able to rescue Gemma and walk away unscathed. Will that be the last time she sees Aaron? The thought makes her stomach turn.

Aaron tosses his pack onto the bed and immediately goes about assuring himself of their safety. The room is on the fifth floor and when he sticks his head out into the hallway he can see five other doors: three across the hall and one on either side of their room. There's a stairwell to the right and three floors above theirs. Aaron shuts and locks the door before making his rounds in the room. The window overlooks the street and there aren't any buildings around or low roofs, making entry that way nearly impossible. It's the only window in the room and there are no curtains, no way to conceal them from the outside world.

While Aaron seeks out potential threats, Marta investigates the attached bathroom. The tub looks like a prop from _Saw_, not that Marta will ever admit to actually seeing that movie but at least the toilet looks clean. She really hopes they won't be sticking around for too long; she likes the idea of actually being able to shower.

When Marta comes out of the bathroom, Aaron is seated on the edge of the bed, "All clear," she asks, hoping to at least engage him in a strictly business conversation.

Aaron gives her a brusque nod. "We should be fine here for the night." Since they've gotten to the city, he hasn't felt those invisible eyes watching him at every turn. But that does not mean it is safe for him to just let his guard down. Big Brother has many pairs of eyes.

They are silent for a moment, the air thick with tension and everything they are purposefully not saying. Marta shifts, uncertainly from foot to foot. She has never felt like this around him before; Aaron was not a stranger to her. He was always a little guarded, yet his eyes seemed to betray his secret sense of humor beneath all of the training. Now she his eyes are barren and she cannot tell what he's thinking. She cannot go another day, hour or minute like this. It is too much on her frazzled nerves.

"Listen, Aaron-" Marta takes a step toward him.

"We don't have to do this, doctor." Aaron interrupts before she can finish saying his name. "We need to focus and plan our next step."

"Aaron-"

He stands abruptly. "I need to focus." He says again.

Marta gets the message. She feels like her heart is sinking down to her feet and there is a knot in her stomach. She feels like she did in the days leading up to her breakup with Peter Boyd; which is ridiculous, because it is not like she and Aaron are in a relationship. This is not a break-up.

"There's a little store right next door." Aaron tells her. "I'm going to get us some water, find something for dinner. And then we'll start planning the next step." He doesn't ask her to go and she doesn't offer because she could not handle the rejection if he rebuffed her.

Marta spends the majority of the time he is gone watching the world pass by outside the window, waiting for him to get back.

Jason gets into Bangladesh not long after the operative and his girlfriend should have touched down and it takes him no time to track them down. Two Americans in the city are surprisingly easy to find. Once again, he thinks about how sloppy the operative is. Jason wonders if Treadstone is just getting tired of training their people.

Jason is surveying the hotel when he sees the operative walking toward the door with a plastic bag in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. Jason's hands itch to draw the gun from his waistband and be finished with this whole mess. But there are people all around; he doesn't want to draw that kind of attention to himself. He is going to need to lure the operative out, to a place where he has to advantage. Fortunately, Jason knows just how to do that.

Aaron feels the eyes on him as he is walking back from the mart. He pauses at the entrance of the hotel, his heart thumping in his chest. Maybe he is just being paranoid, maybe he is overreacting. But he is really fucking tired of feeling like he is being followed. He scans the crowd around the building, looking for anything that does not click. But there is nothing, no one gives him a second glance. Aaron heads back into the hotel and finds Marta waiting by the window. She looks relieved when she sees him and it almost contradicts her earlier words about him not having anyone care if he came home or not. It almost makes him smile.

Instead, Aaron hands her a bottle of water and the two granola bars he picked up for her. He's not going to push her into branching out her culinary tastes right now. He does not have the patience. Marta eats in silence, watching as he boots up the laptop and tries to pull up any information about Gemma Shearing that he can. Most of the news reports are all saying the same thing about Marta's sister and without a trace of pity. Terrorists don't often get nice news reports written about them.

They know Gemma is being kept in Washington D.C. but so far that is all the information Aaron can glean. He knows they need much, much more than that if they have any hope of beating Byer at his own game. They need to know exactly where she's being held, what her daily schedule is like, how many guards are posted around the building, as well as around her cell and if there's any chance she's going to be moved. Aaron isn't going to take any chances, not with Marta's life at stake. This plan has to be the most airtight operation Byer's ever pulled off.

A noise in the hallway catches Aaron's attention and he turns his head toward the door. Marta looks at him quizzically. "What's wrong?" Clearly, she hasn't picked up on whatever is bothering him.

Aaron slips off the bed but he doesn't move toward the door. He's just listening. He hears the noise again, the creak of floorboards, a sign that there's someone in the hallway. If he hadn't felt like he was being watched just a few moments ago, he might be more willing to dismiss it. Now, he's not so sure.

When a shadow passes by the door, Aaron practically lunges across the room and pulls the door open. Of course, the hallway is empty. But Aaron can sense they aren't alone, he can feel another presence almost as strongly as he can feel Marta behind him.

Just as Aaron is about to retreat back into the room, he sees movement on the stairwell and another shadow in the process of descending the stairs. He steps back into the room and slams the door shut. He goes to his jacket and withdraws the gun that's been like a safety net over the past few days.

"Aaron, what's wrong," Marta questions, getting to her feet as well. He can hear the anxiety in her voice.

"You need to stay here." Aaron says by way of an answer. "Lock the door. Only open it if you're one hundred percent sure it's me on the other side."

Marta narrows her eyes. "What's going on?" She questions again. "What aren't you telling me?" Instead of anxious, she is just annoyed now and Aaron can't keep from smiling ever so slightly. "What's out there?"

Aaron moves to the door once more, "Hopefully nothing." He's going to feel stupid if he is overreacting or getting this worked up over a guest but he would rather feel foolish than feel a bullet in his back. "Lock the door." He says again as he steps into the hallway.

Marta's heart is beating quickly as she moves to lock the door behind him. She doesn't like this, not one little bit, but what choice does she have? If Aaron wants to run off and play cowboy then it is not like she can physically keep him from doing so. She just hopes he is not gone for too long and when he gets back that he is still in one piece.

Marta knows that if she doesn't do something to occupy her mind that she is going to go crazy. So, she forces down the rest of her granola bar and reads the article Aaron left pulled up, which talks about her sister as an enemy of the United States. She wants to choke Byer. Where does he get off messing with people's lives like this? It's like Gemma is a plaything, not a person; like she is a means to an end.

Marta shuts the computer to keep from throwing it across the room. She gets to her feet and walks the short distance toward the sink; she turns on the water, letting it run for a moment before splashing some of the water on her face. She feels flushed with anger and worry for Aaron.

Before she can expend too much more energy worrying, she hears the door open and close again. Marta lifts her head, blinking water out of her eyes. She is positive she locked the door, just like Aaron said. She would not put it past him to pick the lock to get back in. That thought makes her roll her eyes.

"So was there anything out there," Marta asks, using the towel by the sink to dry off her face.

When she turns around it is not Aaron standing behind her. Marta exhales sharply, her hands tightening around the towel. She doesn't know how it is possible but she cannot argue with what she is seeing.

"Jason Bourne," she whispers.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five **

"Jason Bourne."

He looks different in person. Unlike the photo being plastered all over the television screen the man looks less like a boy fresh out of high school ROTC with a bad haircut and buoyed by idealism. Now, he looks like a weapon, his body scarred and his ideals broken. Marta is afraid to breathe, she's afraid to move. She just stands there clutching a dirty towel, staring at the man standing, improbably, in her hotel room. Marta cannot wrap her head around finding a man being hunted by every government agency in the world standing in front of her; she wasn't even looking for him, with his gun pointed in her direction.

Jason's eyes are predatory and calculating, clearly waiting for her to make a move. Marta wonders how he found them and what he intends to do now that he has. How lucky for him that Aaron had just left the room. Then she realizes how stupid that thought it. It isn't lucky, it was planned. She understood then, Aaron had picked up on a threat days ago. She felt stupid realizing only now that her mind had been so focused on Gemma and how to save her that she discounted Aaron's attitude as unfeeling and cold. She also realizes in that moment that Aaron would have been far better off to have left her behind when he realized they were being stalked. He didn't leave her behind, but he also did not stay close, that was her fault.

Trying to control her breathing, Marta let her eyes slowly, as if even moving her eyes too quickly would set the man off, move over the man's posture. She was not easily intimidated; after all, the Outcome participants were some of the most physically fit and lethally dangerous men on the planet. Jason, too, was a clear threat, every line of his body exuded the impression 'killer' like pheromones, and Marta had learned to pay heed to her impressions in regard to men like Aaron Cross and Jason Bourne. He has a gun, which should frighten the hell out of her, but it doesn't. For some reason Jason Bourne wants her alive and that is what frightens her that a man of exceptional cunning would keep her alive. The obvious is that it is a trap to capture or harm Aaron. Unless, Aaron is already dead somewhere, but that is a thought she refuses to believe.

Marta wonders if Jason would hesitate to put a bullet in her heart. She knows enough about Treadstone to know the methods for that program were cruel and dangerous. Outcome was the next generation, science succeeded where torture and deprivation had failed. Instead of contravention of morally excepted beliefs, tearing down the participant mentally and physically and forcing primitive survivalist mindsets on them Outcome simply altered the participants on a cellular level. There was no need to torture them if you had a captive audience tied to you through daily doses of chems. It made her ashamed that she had not seen the pills for what they really were, a chain around the necks of men like Aaron.

She had not wanted to see; her only concern was finding a way to improve on the training practices that Treadstone did wrong. She worked hard on ensuring that her program participants didn't display the same characteristics as Treadstone agents, that they were not rash or careless or prone to lapses in memory and judgment. Outcome worked to physically enhance their soldiers beyond where Treadstone. Aaron was superior to Jason Bourne in every way, but that would not do her a lot of good now. Aaron was not here and she is just a scientist. Jason Bourne, mentally compromised as he was, is still a warrior.

Jason watches her closely, waiting for her to make a move. She was playing it calm, but he could tell she was frightened. He had that sort of effect on people; Marie had gotten off on it. It is a little infuriating, this impasse; he wants it to be smooth and simple. He knows if he makes a move for her, she will try to run and he would have to chase her. That could get noisy and the last thing he wants, right now, is to draw the attention of the other guests. He wants to move this to his turf, far away from any prying eyes. He knows he doesn't have long before the other operative returns from his wild goose chase; they need to be gone by then.

"I don't want to hurt you." Jason lies. People always say those kinds of things in these situations and he is hoping those words will put the woman off her guard long enough for him to just grab her and render her unconscious. No fuss, no muss.

Jason can see in her eyes that she doesn't entirely trust him. "Okay," She starts to put up her hands, slowly, acknowledging her surrender.

As Marta puts her hands up, she can see Jason relax ever so slightly, lowering the gun a fraction of an inch as he steps toward her and that is all she needs. She throws the towel into his face, catching him by surprise. It might not be the best weapon, but it'll work as a distraction. She dives to his right, climbing across the bed in an effort to put more distance between them. Aaron took their only gun but that doesn't mean she's totally defenseless. She is not a very good shot anyway.

Jason makes a grab for her, catching her ankle as she tries to move off the bed. Marta falls to the ground, kicking at him with her free leg. She grabs the cord to the bedside lamp and yanks it off the nightstand. The base and bulb break on the floor and Marta jams the broken edges against Jason's thigh. Jason grunts out a curse and he lets go of her ankle. Marta scrambles to her feet, stumbling in her hurry to make it toward the door.

Jason is on her seconds later, grabbing the back of her shirt and yanking her backward.

He tosses her back toward the bed. This is not good. It is hardly a fight but it is still noisy and Jason is sure the people in the room below are wondering what's going on.

Marta regained her footing once more, weighing her options. Her eyes dart toward the window. A five story drop sounds worse than handing herself over to Bourne. Maybe if she keeps up this cat and mouse game long enough, Aaron will return. She prays with the decidedly unscientific part of her brain that there really is some sort of sixth sense that tells people when something bad is happening to the people important to them. She hopes that sense is sending Aaron back to the hotel room.

Trying to skirt around him, she hisses as Jason grabs for her once more and grasps hold of her hair. Marta shoves him backward as hard as she can, ignoring the pain in her scalp. It isn't much, but she does manage to push him backward enough to send him into the nightstand, knocking the piece over and momentarily disorienting him so that he releases her hair.

Again, Marta makes a lunge for the door but again Jason grabs her before she can get close enough to wrap her fingers around the knob, but she had been close enough to feel the cold metal on her fingertips. Hope flairs in her as she struggles to make it back to the door, but it fades into pain filled darkness.

Jason hit her across the back of the head with the butt of his gun, catching her as she crumples. The move might have lacked finesse but at least it got the job done. Hefting Marta and slinging her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry Jason sticks his gun into the waist band of his jeans and pulls a matchbook out of his pocket. Tossing it onto the middle of the fight rumpled bed it will be an obvious taunt. One that Jason would have never let stand and he is banking on the other asset being just as territorial. Without a backward glance, he leaves the room, hoping there is still enough time to put distance between himself and the operative.

Aaron is more than a little annoyed by the time he returns to the hotel room. He is too well trained to be jumping at shadows, let alone following them all over Dhaka. If he is really being honest with himself, he would have to admit that part of the reason he let himself hunt after nothing for so long was to put distance between him and Marta. But he is not in the mood for honesty.

So, he shoved down that instinctual drive to return to her and ease both of their fears; that is an action he regrets as soon as he steps into the hallway that stretches in front of their room. Aaron can sense that something is wrong; the same trickle of dread that had been dripping into his belly as he followed shadows was now coursing and pooling in the pit of his stomach. It is a raging wave of instinct that moves him down the hall and he withdraws the gun from the back of his jeans with fluid grace, his muscles tensing with anticipation at the sight of their door.

The hotel room door is just barely ajar. Aaron pauses briefly, listening for sounds coming from inside the room. His keen ears assure him there is no one inside the room. No tell-tale breathing giving away the intruders location and no panicked, breathless sobs to reassure him that Marta is alive and well within the room. His heart skips a beat; what if she is dead? Aaron refused to believe that he would enter that room only to find her lifeless body. There wasn't a liquid, hot ache of despair mixed with the glacial tarn of instinctual warning. Aaron throws caution to the wind and kicks the door the rest of the way open, stepping into the room with his gun drawn and ready.

It is as empty as it sounded from the hall and that is almost more upsetting to the feral nature raging within him. She's gone. The tidal wave of emotion nearly capsizes his rationality when he sees room before him. A towel is lying limply near the east wall and Aaron nods as his eyes swing to the bed. She was smart; putting distance between her and the attacker, the towel would have only given her a moment's advantage. The lamp is on the floor, broken into several pieces and he can see the hint of red marring one of the larger broken shards and he whispers, "Good girl," as drops of pride join the ocean in his belly.

She was living up to the larger than life persona he had ascribed her back in that squalid room in Manila. She was not taken easily. She is a warrior. Aaron knew that the nightstand was knocked over as well and a smile of visceral pride graced his beautiful lips. Aside from the lamp, nightstand and the disheveled bed, nothing is amiss but, to Aaron, everything is wrong. Marta is gone.

He has had enough training to know the signs of a struggle when he sees them; to map the progression through the room and he is only marginally comforted by the fact that Marta was alive at the end of this one. The only blood in the room is not hers. He was sure of that, if nothing else, Marta used the broken lamp on who ever tried to take her scoring first blood. It was not much but he will take what he can to insure so he can at least hold onto the idea that Marta is alive and uninjured. Not that that helps much, because she is still gone.

Aaron picks up the already broken lamp and everything in him wants to hurl it against the wall and roar with frustration; he doesn't. He cannot bring more attention to them at the moment. This is his fault. Marta should have been protected and instead he had allowed emotion, stupid wounded feelings, to impair his judgment. The blame for this situation could only be laid at his feet, leaving her by herself was stupid and careless, a rookie mistake.

How could he be so foolish?

Sure, there were a few moments where the very act of being in the same room as Marta was painful enough to make Aaron rethink their 'partnership.' But now that she is gone, the only thing he wants is to have her back. Aaron takes the time, precious as it is, to pack their few belongings back into the packs. When, not if, but when he finds her Aaron has the irrational thought that he will never let Marta out of his sight again.

All he wants is to be able and reach across the distance between them and take Marta's hand; to apologize for being stubborn and childish. It doesn't matter how she feels about him, it really never had. Aaron knew she was out of his league that was half the fun of teasing and flirting with her. Doctor Marta Shearing was classy and intelligent; she was born that way. Aaron Cross, formerly Kenneth Kitsom, was born to strung-out stripper and without Outcome and the chems he would have never been able to sell her a greasy burger and salty artery clogging fries, let alone converse with her.

Even if all he ever was to her was a number it did not matter. All that mattered to him was that Marta Shearing remained safe. He wished things could have been different, but wishing got you nowhere. That was a lesson he learned a long time ago, back before there was an Aaron Cross. Having this new prospective of their relationship focused Aaron's attention on the scene.

Aaron searches the room with a practiced eye, looking for any indication of who took Marta and where. Frowning, Aaron moved to the bed reaching out to twitch the bedding. The matchbook lying in the middle of the bed bears the name The Gold Room in elegant script. He doesn't know if it is a hotel or a restaurant but that hardly seems important. The place's only value lay in being where he can find Marta.

Picking up the glossy, black book and running his thumb over the gold lettering Aaron recognizes the challenge. He sees the summons for what it is—a trap. Six weeks ago, Aaron Cross never would have walked into a trap willingly. Now he wants to run.

Marta wakes to the sensation of something pinching her wrists and her head feels like her brain is leaking from her ears. Her neck feels sticky and the hair under her cheek feels matted. She remembers the pain lancing through her skull and she worries that maybe her brain really _is_ going to leak out of her ears. Her thoughts are disjointed; it's difficult to piece together what happened to her. She remembers the pain and then nothing. Why does she feel like she has the hangover from hell?

Slowly, Marta opens her eyes, attempting to give her body time to adjust to the faint light filtering from some unknown source. She finds herself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling; there are a few holes in the roof, which is the source of the muted light. The air around her smells stale, like mildew and she can see dust motes floating around in the shafts of light cast by the setting sun. This does not seem like the type of place she would go willingly and even Aaron's penchant for choosing hovels is a step up from this place.

Jason Bourne. It hits her then, like the blow to the back of her head, the memory of him showing up in the hotel room and her desperate attempts to avoid becoming his hostage. Clearly, luck was not on her side.

Turning her head slightly Marta groans at the wave of nausea that spreads through her stomach as pain and dizziness flood her senses. She is lying on a dirty wooden floor with her hands bound in front of her, tightly, with a plastic zip-tie, but her legs and ankles are free. Maybe she can still run or fight back.

Marta's never been the damsel in distress type. Aaron called her a warrior, back in Manila, and she knew it was mostly to bolster her onward if the worst happened and he died from the virus she infected him with, but it helped to think he was maybe a little right. After all, it was her quick thinking that saved her when Foite was trying to kill her. Of course, she would have died in Maryland if Aaron had not stepped in, but she had fought and would have died fighting. They may have beaten her but she wasn't making their job easy.

Jason Bourne was just another in a long line of things she would fight against. A warrior she would be, even though clearly, she's in some distress. She was confident that Aaron would come for her, but she would make sure that when he did he wasn't blindsided by the Treadstone asset.

Marta hears the sound of a clip being slid into a gun and the sound of the hammer being pulled back. The sound is familiar to her now. Aaron spent a lot of time cleaning and checking their sole firearm and it is a comfort to her now hearing the clip slide home. Except, that this time the sound is more sinister than she remembers it. Remembering the sick pain that arrowed through her when she moved her head the first time Marta moves only her eyes, searching for her captor. She freezes when she sees Jason standing a little off to her left, gun in hand. Their eyes meet but he doesn't bother to acknowledge her.

"Untie me," Marta demands, trying to make her voice sound as steely and authoritative as possible. She knows it is ridiculous to ask Jason Bourne for anything but the words seem like reflex. Marta watches as the Treadstone asset responsible for blowing her world apart silently moves out of her line of sight.

Jason glances over his shoulder to where the woman lay before turning back to studying the world outside the grimy glass windows. Everything is still, but that doesn't mean they're alone. Jason doesn't feel like the operative is outside, not yet, and he wants to believe that he will know. He knows he'll come, he'll feel as though he has no choice. Every man has a weakness, his was just painfully obvious.

Jason turns his attention back to the woman on the floor. He likes her spirit, it reminds him of Marie. When he thinks about having to put a bullet in the back of her head, all he can think about is the woman he lost. He tries to block those thoughts out so they don't keep him from doing what's necessary. He plans to kill the operative first, so at least he won't die with the knowledge that he's responsible for the death of this woman. No one ever said Jason was completely heartless.

Moving away from the window, Jason kneels in front of Marta, his body tense despite his more relaxed posture. "Who sent you?" She doesn't respond, which doesn't surprise him. "Who are you?"

"Marta Shearing," she manages to say through her clogged throat. She is surprised by his question. Who sent them? He was the one hunting them, not the other way around. Clearly, there are some crossing wires somewhere. No wonder the government wanted this man out of the picture.

Marta does not say anything of this; she thinks about what Aaron would do and it is easy to picture him calm, aloof and silent. The big difference between her and Aaron is he would be calm and aloof because he knew he was ten seconds away from neutralizing the threat. Being tied up, however, and helpless on the floor does not exactly leave those cards in her hand at the moment.

"You should just let me go," Marta tells Jason frankly. "You know he's going to find you."

Jason gives her a slight smile. "I'm counting on that," he assures her and suddenly the smile is gone and his eyes are cold. This is a man willing to go to any lengths to achieve his goals. In that moment, as much as Marta loves the idea of Aaron busting in here like a knight-in-shining armor to save her, she hates being the reason he's going to willingly put himself in danger.

She wonders how long Jason has been watching them because he did not seem to have any problem figuring out the only thing that could make Aaron act impulsively and irrationally. If he dies, it will be because of her, because he came to save her. His blood will be on her hands. Just like Gemma's. She doesn't think it is fair that one woman can cause so much destruction just by being.

"What do you want," Marta questions, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat.

She is trying to think past images of Jason killing Aaron the second he walks through the door. Marta does not like the thought of Aaron dying for her. Maybe she can convince Jason to abandon whatever plan he has set in place, maybe she can think of a way to save herself from this situation, so she can save Aaron.

Jason gives her a sad sort of smile. "I just want to be left alone."

Marta thinks that Jason Bourne seems like a lost little boy in that moment. His features are haunted by loss and he seems genuinely broken.

"Then why did you take me?" She asks and it is lightning fast, the change that overcomes his features. The boy is gone to be replaced by the deadly asset.

"You know why," he growls. "I keep telling you people to leave me alone. But you had to follow me to Manila, well this time you'll listen."

"We didn't," Marta denies, shaking her head as she tries to convince the man that she and Aaron did not follow him to Manila. "We came to Manila for—for Aaron's—," Marta tries to explain but her mind is fuzzy and her eyes won't focus. She realizes she must have a slight concussion and that makes her less of a help for Aaron. "The factory was there. We had to go, but we didn't—," she stumbles over her explanation when Jason tenses and cocks his head to the side as if listening to something other than her.

Desperate, Marta grasps his shirt with her restrained hands and tells him in a rush, "We weren't there for you."

"You're a liar," Jason snarls as his hands grasp her wrists brutally and removes them from his shirt. "I know an asset when I see one!"

Marta was so startled by his raised voice and hurtful touch that she almost laughs hysterically. This man honestly thought he was an island. "Are you that conceited," she asks absently and then her eyes met Bourne's again and she is babbling. "Of course you are, and why shouldn't you be? I mean you are the center of all this…The first. The reason they illiminated half a dozen people in a lab in Maryland and another half dozen program participants."

"Be quiet," the asset, before her, demands through clenched teeth.

He is only half listening to her, now, instead his attention is off in the distance and she realizes that this is it, Aaron had arrived. She could not let him walk into a trap without at least trying to warn him of the danger. Taking a deep breath and preparing to let loose a scream not unlike the one in Manila, but Jason guesses her intent and the back of his hand strikes her hard enough that she sees stars.

She tastes blood and her vision is further impeded by the pain pounding through her abused head. She is aware of Jason moving away from her and slipping into the shadows just as the two double-doors are thrust open.


	6. Chapter 6

Six

From the outside, Aaron can tell that the Gold Room used to be a restaurant. _Used to _being the key words in that sentence. The large, brick warehouse style building holds onto very few indications of its former opulence but through the big floor to ceiling windows, which are now broken or so dirty it is nearly impossible to see through he can spot golden chandeliers dangling from the ceiling its bulbs missing or broken in the sockets. There are tables still set with linen cloths and broken dishes where lavish place settings once sat. Whatever happened to The Gold Room; it happened quickly and had left nothing but a shell precariously housing ruined furnishings.

The other buildings on the block have fallen into similar states of disarray and Aaron has not seen a car come down the street in the twenty minutes that he has been watching the building. He has to admire this choice of meeting place. Away from prying eyes and a place long neglected by everyone. If he and Marta were to die in this scenario, it would be months, possibly years, before anyone found their bodies. It's exactly the type of place he would have chosen for a last stand. However, Aaron does not plan on him and Marta being the dead ones in this equation.

He can see the shadow of a man passing by the windows on the second story and Aaron wonders if it's really possible that the guy is alone. Can there really be only one guy? Maybe Outcome sent another one of their pet LARX agents to finish the job the first one botched so spectacularly. If that is the case, Aaron worries that maybe he is too late and Marta is already dead. You do not need live bait to set a trap. Quick on the heels of this thought Aaron asks himself if he would really risk everything for a corpse and the unequivocal answer is—yes, he is willing to risk his life for a woman who might already be dead.

As crazy as that sounds there is really nothing else to wait on now; he has staked out the premises and has enough information to believe he is only going to have to fight one man. Of course, that could just be another part of the trap.

Aaron has never been one to waste time with waiting around. He checks the ammo clip in his weapon one last time before emerging from his hiding spot and moving toward the dilapidated restaurant. He sticks close to the side of the building, moving past the windows as quickly as he can. He pauses with every few steps, listening to the sounds around him. He hears nothing but the noise from the city a few streets over.

Slowly, Aaron nudges the door open, cursing inwardly as the hinges groan. He might as well just run in there and start shooting seeing as he no longer has the element of surprise on his side. The lower dining room level is empty, aside from the remnants of what the restaurant once was. Aaron ducks behind one of the tables as he thinks about his next move.

There is a long staircase heading up toward the second level but it veers to the left so he can't see exactly where it leads from the lower level. There are no balconies or places where Marta's abductor could use height to his advantage without Aaron seeing him.

Aaron swiftly moves through the dining room and checks out the kitchen, just to be on the safe side. He finds no one there either, except for rats and spiders, so he lets his training come to the fore and begins searching the area for improvised weapons. Aaron smiles when he finds a few pieces of cutlery and slips them into the belt-loops on his pants. Eyeing a particularly wicked looking carving fork Aaron thinks about the many satisfying uses he can put the two-pronged weapon to. If Marta is dead, Aaron promises himself, that fork will get to see each and every one of them before he lets the bastard die.

He feels like the part of him that has come alive during his time with Marta is starting to shut down. Number Five is taking his place.

In his ideal situation he'll walk in, shoot the bastard and be done with it. The more likely scenario is messy, drawn-out, hand-to-hand combat. Aaron is confident in his abilities, he always has been. But he doesn't know what kind of situation he is about to walk into or who is going to be on the other end of his gun. He feels ready for anything, but inwardly he just hopes that he does not embarrass himself in front of Marta. It would be unthinkable for him to get killed without even making first blood the way she had back in the hotel. That thought brought a smile to his lips. She is his warrior-woman and it was time to set her free.

And then on that thought he is on the move again, leaving the kitchen and a storage area behind there is no place to go but up. Aaron hugs the wall as he climbs the stairs, taking each step one at a time and pausing after each step to assess his surroundings. His muscles know these steps, his body yearns for this. It is what he was made for. No, it is why he was made.

The stairs curve to the left and lead to another, shorter, staircase that leads to two double doors and nothing else. Aaron smirks, 'X' marks the spot. He knows there is no way he can just walk in without the person on the other side knowing he is coming and he cannot just barge in and start shooting because Marta is in there, too. So, basically, it is a fucked-if-he-does-fucked-if-he-doesn't situation, lose-lose for him.

Sighing, Aaron closes his eyes and listens. He can hear Marta demanding to be untied and it makes him smile. 'You go, Doc!' Easing closer to the door the floor creaks faintly and Aaron freezes. Marta's words increase in pitch and anxiety. Obviously, the asset heard the floor board and had gone on alert.

"Be quite," the faceless asset orders and Aaron realizes it is going to be now or never. Taking the last few steps to the door Aaron feels his anger kick in at the sound of flesh striking flesh and Marta's pained groan. Every mark put on her lovely skin will be visited upon the bastard before the night is through and he would add a few just to make himself feel better.

Kicking the doors as hard as he can, Aaron ducks into the room and moves right into shadows and ducks back against the wall, trying to make him as small a target as possible. No one shoots at him, which is a plus. But he can't see very far into the room, which is a disadvantage. Drawing a deep breath, Aaron searches the room, eyes darting around, gun moving in every direction. A section of the wall is missing to his right and Aaron does not like the idea of having open space at his back but a pillar in the center of the once glamorous ballroom impedes his view of the room.

Edging right he sees Marta laying on the floor, a bit of blood running down her neck and her hands are tied in front of her. Her eyes go wide a millisecond before Aaron hears the man behind him. Dropping to the ground just as the bullet exits the chamber and is propelled through the air where his head had been has a sobering effect on Aaron. Rolling to his back he strikes out with his left foot and it slams into his assailant's gun hand. The gun clatters to the ground, sliding just out of reach. Aaron tries to bring his weapon to bear, but Jason kicks the gun from his grasp, sending it into the opposite corner.

Being sprawled on the floor is not how he wants this fight to progress. Aaron rolls away just in time to avoid the man's boot in his face and leaving the asset slightly off-balance. Using this to his advantage Aaron drives his elbow into the side of the man's left knee bringing him in closer; which has the unintended effect of Aaron receiving a punch to his face as the man stumbles over him. Seeing the opening the asset rears back ready to deliver another more powerful blow, but Aaron grabs the assailant's fist and twists his wrist, trying to force the man off him. He feels too exposed and weak on his back on the floor and that needs to change. The man grunts as Aaron continues to twist his arm. There is a spot on the man's right leg where blood has stained his dark jeans and Aaron kicks that spot as hard as he can, bringing the man to his knees.

Aaron quickly gets to his feet and drives his knee into the other man's jaw, driving him backward. His eyes dart over to Marta, trying to access her condition as quickly as possible. He can't see the wound on the back of her head but there's blood and her eyes are wide and a little glazed. The thought of this man putting his hands on Marta, about him hurting her…Aaron kicks him in the ribs several times, feeling the rage well up inside of him. Getting emotional during a mission is dangerous; he knows this from experience and from his training. But this isn't a mission. It's personal.

The man groans and rolls over onto his back, momentarily stunned and Aaron finally gets a good look at his face. He stops, surprised and confused. Jason Bourne. "How…"

Jason takes advantage of his surprise by tackling him around the waist, driving the breath from him and sending them both crashing to the ground. Jason punches him in the gut and his lungs feel like they're going to explode and he sees stars. Another hit to the ribs just increases that sensation. Aaron is vaguely aware of Marta shouting his name but she sounds far away.

Jason moves to hit him again and Aaron barely dodges the punch, countering with a blow to the other agent's solar plexus. He pushes Jason off him and moves to grab one of the knives from his belt loop, slashing and jabbing at Jason. Jason dodges his blows and hits his wrist, sending the knife sliding in Marta's direction. Aaron slams his body into Jason's, driving him into the wall. Some of the plaster comes lose and falls down around them, but it does not faze Aaron. He will bring this whole place down if that is what it takes. He has no idea how Jason found them or why he felt the need to fuck with them, but he doesn't care about why right now. Aaron thinks that there is something fundamentally wrong with Bourne's reasoning. The asset used Marta to challenge him, but Bourne had no earthly idea what he was unleashing when he took her. Aaron would not stop until Marta was safe and if that meant killing to ensure this, so be it.

Jason's elbow catches Aaron in the jaw, shoving him backward, but Aaron managed to keep his footing, his body tense and ready for another attack from Jason. Aaron grabs the knife off the floor and resists the urge to throw it at the other agent; he always got high marks for accuracy. But the last thing he wants is to put a weapon in Jason's hands. Aaron positions himself in front of Marta, wishing he could have gotten her to safety before getting into it with Jason. But she is as safe now as she can be and he is going to keep it that way.

Jason pulls out another gun, this one smaller and more compact, and Aaron lunges for him, intent on wrestling the weapon away from him before he can even think about shooting. His hand is around Jason's wrist, trying to shake the gun loose but the other man's grip is like iron and Aaron just gets a knee to the chest for his trouble.

Aaron drives Jason back into the wall once more, slamming his wrist against the rotting wood and plaster. The gun goes off, firing wide and Marta screams. Aaron turns his head, just a fraction, but before he can assure himself that she was not hit by a stray bullet Jason is pointing the gun in his face. Aaron barely has time to duck away before the gun goes off. One of the windows shatters, sending glass raining into the room and onto the street below. Nearly being shot in the head a second time just pisses Aaron off even more.

Aaron kicks Jason in one of his knee caps, dropping the man to the floor once more and before Jason can roll away Aaron straddles him, using his weight on his knees centered over Jason's elbows to pin Jason in place. He has never fought another operative like this but it is a little like how he would imagine fighting a brick wall would be. Jason is unyielding and has impressive stamina and seems to share his own dampened response to pain. But brick walls don't bleed and Jason Bourne certainly is.

Jason tries to twist out from underneath him and Aaron punches him in the face. He delivers a blow to the rogue agent's wind pipe before punching him again. Aaron knows this feeling; his body is moving in on autopilot. He will win, the fight was over before it began and he will be victorious. He just needs to move in for the kill.

Aaron pulls out the carving fork, which he took from the kitchen and presses it against Jason's throat. Jason looks dazed and a little bit shocked. He underestimated his opponent and now that will get him killed. Aaron presses the tines to Jason's skin, drawing pinpricks of blood. "You put your hands on her." He growls, his face centimeters from Jason's. He feels like an animal, possessed by instinct and anger. "That was your first mistake."

Jason bucks his body upward and Aaron moves the fork just enough for Jason to be able to knock it aside. But he doesn't get much more of an upper hand. Aaron flips the fork in his grasp until he has it in a secure grip in one smooth movement and then drives the long tines into the man's left shoulder. Jason's eyes open wide and the sound from his lips is more wounded animal than man. Aaron is pitiless as he punches him once, twice.

He has decided he will kill Bourne with his bare hands. He is the reason they are in this fucking country in the first place. If it weren't for him, Outcome never would have had to terminate their agents or the scientists at Sterlsyn Morlanta. He would have gone about his life, status quo. Regularly scheduled blood drops and flirting with Dr. Shearing not nightmares about losing Marta.

"You have the balls," Aaron growled, wrapping the fingers of his right hand around Jason's throat as he continued, "To fucking touch her after your little cluster-fuck of a European vacation turns her life upside down. They fucking burned entire programs to the ground because of you, you arrogant prick, and you have the gall to come after us with everyone else you've set on our tails." Grasping Bourne's ear Aaron lifted the man's head and slammed it into the softening, hardwood floor. Marta would be living her happy life in her charming piece of shit house and he would still be just a number to her. Things were less complicated before Jason made it his personal mission to leave a trail of destruction everywhere he went.

Aaron pulls his fist back to hit Jason again but suddenly there is hands on his own, restraining him and he stops; only just able to restrain the instincts telling him to fight against this new threat. He knows her touch and it clears some of the red from his vision.

"Wait," Marta says softly and Aaron turns his head to look at her. She seems wobbly on her feet, her skin is white and her hands are still bound but there is that fire in her eyes. "Don't kill him."

Aaron blinks at her, surprised. Jason is subdued for the moment; there is no harm in splitting his attention. He has one hand on the operative's throat, just in case. It would be so easy to kill him now.

"Why," Aaron asks, confused by her motives. He doesn't know what he was expecting of her, to be honest. She's just a civilian, a doctor. He can't expect her to show no mercy, to be comfortable while he beats another man to death, even if that's what has to happen to keep her safe.

"He has been on the run for nearly four years," Marta says and Aaron sees no pity in her eyes when she looks at Jason. She's all cold calculation. "He might be able to help us."

Aaron waits a beat, considering her words. Jason Bourne is public enemy number one and yet he was able to side-step his pursuers at every turn. As much as Byer and the whole program hate him and Marta, they probably hate this man even more. Marta was right Bourne might be useful. If he turned out to be a liability then at the very least he could try to trade Jason for Gemma Shearing. They would have to let things cool down and then discuss their options in a calm and objective manner. It was not a perfect plan but it might work.

Aaron loosened his grip on Jason's throat and he can feel the other man inhale deeply. He pulls his hand free from Marta's and hits Jason as hard as he can, knocking the other agent unconscious. It was satisfying to render the operative unconscious. He had too many things to worry about without having to listen to Bourne, besides getting Bourne to a neutral location would be difficult if he did not want to go quietly.

Aaron struggled to his feet, ignoring the tender bruises he could already feel forming on his body. Flexing his abused fingers Aaron runs his eyes over Marta, unable to resist the urge to pull her closer to him, checking her body over for injuries. She does not fight him; instead she sinks into his body, shaking with adrenaline. Sighing, Aaron gently pulls away brushing her hair aside, studying the bruise across her cheek. It looked like Bourne had pulled his punch there or she might have suffered worse. The spot on the back of her neck, despite the blood, was small and already closed up. Aaron feels his heart loosen and he began to relax slightly. She may have a concussion but she would live; which made Jason Bourne one of the luckiest men alive.

"Are you all right," Aaron asks, searching her eyes.

Marta purses her lips and nods glancing away for a moment before letting her gaze to flicker back to his. "I'm fine. Aside from, well, you know." She gestures vaguely to her face. "I'm sorry."

"You were great," Aaron assures her looking at her, surprised. "What are you apologizing for?"

"Getting taken," Marta replies, "You shouldn't have come for me it was a trap."

"Don't be stupid." Is all Aaron can think to say, "Of course I should come for you, why wouldn't I?"

Marta does not answer right away but Aaron knows she is thinking about the things that happened in Vietnam. "Because…all those things I said…I…" She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I never should have said that."

Aaron steps away from her and Marta the huff she gives is frustration. He thinks she looks a little sad for a woman who just survived her first and hopefully last abduction. Aaron plucks a knife from his belt loop and turns back to Marta. Taking her hands gently Aaron inspects the plastic at her wrists. Turning slightly Aaron puts his foot down on Jason Bourne's wrist just enough that it will ache when he wakes up, but not enough to hamper his use of the appendage. "This is going to make your fingers burn a little," he murmurs as he delicately cuts the plastic tie off, but he does not meet her gaze. "The bastard nearly cut the circulation off a little longer and you might…" Ever so softly, Aaron massages the slight indention, ringing her wrists, made by the bindings. "Don't apologize for saying how you feel, Dr. Shearing. You should never apologize for that." He tosses the plastic binding aside and begins searching Bourne accumulating a hefty pile of weapons.

Gathering the items Aaron stood up turning away from Marta. When she grabs his arm, pulling him back toward her Aaron is slightly surprised at the strength in her hand.

"That isn't how I feel," She tells him fiercely. "I was angry and hurt and I needed to—to hurt something. You understand that feeling; I know you do. You say things—do things you don't mean. I know you know what I am talking about, Aaron Cross, and don't you dare try and tell me otherwise." He smirks but doesn't argue.

She is all riled up and it makes some deep part of him glad she has such a spirit. It would be hell if she was a weeping willow or shrinking violet. He can tell she is working up a head of steam and he decides to sit back and watch it happen. It is oddly sexy watching her argue, essentially with herself. "I don't think of you as just a science experiment. I never did. You might have been just a number in a file but…I know you now. You aren't a number, you're not a project."

Marta takes hold of his arm as if afraid he will try and leave her again as her voice loses the fire and is softened by a peculiar gentle tone. "You're a man…Brave and selfless, smart and kind." She smiles softly at him as she pets his arm tenderly, "And you're gentle."

Aaron scoffs, "I'm not gentle," he gestures toward Bourne, "Look what I can do with just my hands." Raising his hands between them Aaron stares at them, bloody and bruised. "I'm what they made me."

Marta covers his hands with hers, covering the blood and the scraps. "No," She says simply, "You're more than that. And I…I miss…" Aaron can tell she is uncomfortable admitting whatever it is she is trying to say, but he cannot help but believe that the admission is too integral to his well-being to let her be silent.

Aaron looks at her, really looks into her eyes and he can see that she knows he is about to force her hand; so, Aaron arches his eyebrow in challenge. "What do you miss, Doc?"

"You," Marta whispers, and it is as if she has run a marathon, roughly. Her warm brown eyes slightly unfocused meet his gaze. "I miss you. I can't lose you because of something stupid I said. I can't," she shakes her head for emphasis, "Without you, I—even if they stopped hunting me I would never feel safe," she sighs, shaking her head again. "I'm not making any sense."

Hearing her words reminds Aaron of being a little boy and his first day in Irwin, watching his mother drive away for the last time. He waited for her on the front steps of that run down state home until the sun set, but he knew she was not coming back the second she walked him into the sterile looking building. She wouldn't look at him or answer his questions. Just told him to be quiet and do as Ms. Monroe said.

So, he sat there in the hot Reno sun and waited just to be sure. That was when he realized that there wasn't anyone in the world who needed him, that there was no one who would feel his absence. Ms. Monroe had been as kind as a woman dealing with a house full of broken hearted children could be. But even when she had gathered him up in her arms and carried him into the boy's dorm rocking him to sleep that first night, Aaron knew he did not belong there either. Now, he thinks that it must take time to find that one person who could make you feel accepted at all costs.

"You could make it without me." Aaron says gently, but he does not want it to be true, even if it is.

Marta rolls her eyes at him. "I don't want to, you idiot." She gives him a playful swat. "We're a team, now."

Aaron wants to remember this moment for the rest of his life, however brief it might be. He thinks this warm glow in his chest is what he thinks he may have felt if his mother had turned that beat-up Ford Pinto around and taken him in her arms. The moment when he meant something to someone because of who he was, not what he could be made into. He would give up almost anything to keep this moment, forever.

"A team," Aaron assures her. "We'll do this together. I promise I'll get your sister come what may." He understands why it is so hard to love someone, how must people baulk under the pressure of thinking only about another person all the time. Aaron has only ever looked after himself, until Marta; it was the first thing he learned when he went to Irwin. A lesson hard learned and imprinted deep. He's up for a little change of pace.

"Now we have collateral," Aaron continues, "we have something they want."

They both look toward Jason, still prone on the floor. Aaron can see himself in Jason Bourne; in as much as he could have very easily been signed up for the pilot program instead of Outcome, but Bourne was no more a victim than Aaron was. They both went into the programs without blinders on. And Aaron would keep his promise to Marta even if he had to sell Jason Bourne to do it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Seven**

Nicky Parsons has always led a charmed life. It's a fact she's never seen any point in apologizing for or denying. As the only daughter of a man who made his money scheming in the stock market, she never wanted for material possessions as a child. Her father was too busy for her the majority of the time, leaving her in the care of her young Parisian mother, who never seemed to get tired of regaling her daughter with the story of how she and Nicky's father met.

He was a wealthy businessman in Paris to wine and dine and spend his money; and she, young French college student. It was all so romantic, until he was too busy for love too. But Nicky never faulted her father for his long absences; she just grew accustomed to them, just as she grew accustomed to the life that he provided for her. He gave her summer homes and trips to Europe with elite boarding schools and high society friends. Though Nicky often preferred her own company to that of the elitist offspring she sat next to in class.

Nicky inherited her father's intelligence, though instead of playing the stocks she toyed with computers, spending hours delving into the inner-workings of the Internet as it grew and transformed, becoming a more powerful and intriguing tool with every passing day. What Nicky did not inherit was her mother's romantic and carefree spirit, much to her mother's disappointment. She was always too busy for boyfriends or even casual dating. Nicky had become very skilled in the art of tuning out her mother's endless monologues about the important things in life.

As far as Nicky was concerned, the important things lay in the adjectives that were used by others to describe her: hard-working, intelligent, determined, and confident. In the new millennium, those things were more important than finding a whirlwind romance. After all, look how well that had worked out for her mother.

Nicky was twenty-one when she garnered the interest of the CIA and, through them, a group of black-ops programs that were starting to stretch their wings, unbeknownst to the rest of the government organizations. The CIA had Nicky on their radar because of her habit of playing around in their firewalls and breeching their security. Treadstone had her in their sights for that same reason but also because of her personality, her tendency to spend her time alone, to rebuff the attention of a number of suitors and her performance at her Ivy League school.

Nicky accepted their invitation because they painted a very pretty picture of the type of work she would be doing. She soon discovered she was in your typical frog in a pot of boiling water scenario. Throw a frog into boiling water and he jumps out right away. Put the frog in the pot and then boil the water and he boils alive. Unfortunately, she was the frog.

Working for Treadstone did have its advantages, like access to technology that didn't exist outside the walls of the government facility and the ability to have her finger on the pulse on the inner-workings of the country's defense team. But it also entailed helping authorize the deaths of hundreds of people, watching as agents from her own program were sent to their deaths. It also brought danger in the form of Jason Bourne, one such agent who seemed to make a habit of flirting with death and doing a little dangerous living of his own. Nicky read the man's files and she spent hours pouring-over the lengthy notes on his behavior and thought patterns, his training and his continual resistance to the program. Jason was good at what he did, but he didn't seem to like being kept on a leash. Nicky often wondered if he allowed himself to get involved with her because it was a big no-no, just another way to let his handlers know that they didn't control him.

Of course, they were both naïve enough to think that their playing around was just that. Jason's flippancy landed him presumed dead and then, upon his resurrection, in a world of shit. Nicky's landed her with emotions she'd never thought she'd actually have to deal with: fear for Jason's wellbeing, resistance to blindly assisting in the rogue agent's capture or death and maybe even something that could pass for love. If you looked close enough.

Nicky was foolish enough to believe that, when Jason resurfaced, he would come back for her. But the Jason she knew was gone, replaced by a confused and beaten killing machine without the sense to remember who he was or what he did. Instead of sweeping back in to her life, he decided to tear down the program and everyone inside it. Everyone was an enemy to him; including her.

Jason might not have remembered who she was or what history lay between them, but he did save her life. He could have easily walked away, gone on the run again, and stayed a step or two ahead of those hunting him. Instead he came back for her, risking his safety to ensure hers. Nicky had hoped that last night they spent together that he might be starting to remember her, that he might be thinking back to the last morning they spent together, the way that she had been doing since he blew back into her life. It was the last time she'd seen him smile and she missed that more than she missed the feel of his hands on her body and his lips against her skin. But no recognition could be found in his eyes.

After getting on a bus and parting ways with Jason, Nicky headed back to the United States. It might be a stupid course of action but it is the only thing she knows to do. She hoped that it is the last thing Treadstone would expect her to do or that they will go on believing she is dead for a long, long time. America is her home and if she is going to die, Nicky doesn't want to die away from home. Of course, she doesn't want to die at all.

She spends the first few days of her new life much like she spent her adolescence and college years: alone, in the company of books and her thoughts. The hardest part about being cut off from her old self is the fact that her mother and father now think she is dead. Nicky cried to sleep the first two nights afterward just thinking about her mother, all alone in their big house, crying over her school photos and planning her funeral. When she tries to imagine her father's reaction, she just sees him standing in his office, face unreadable, as always. She wants to reach out to her mother, send her some little sign that she is okay but she knows she can't. Nicky Parsons is dead. Her survival depends on that fact.

Nicky knows the key to survival is to keep moving. She cannot settle, at least not for a while. No phones, nothing that can be traced to her or her location. She keeps her head down whenever she walks, travels in large groups of people. Some nights, Jason's idea of pillow-talk involved talking about his training and survival skills. She puts some of those to use now.

Nicky buys a bus ticket for D.C. because the news recently has been full of program faces and Nicky cannot shake the feeling that Jason will somehow turn up wherever the controversy is. She can't seem to help herself; so, she pays in cash and when the man at the ticket window asks for her name she gives him a fake one. She sits in the back of the bus and reads for most of the journey. She spends the rest of her time people watching and making up stories for the other passengers around her. Their lives are all normal and mundane, at least in her mind.

When Nicky steps off the bus, she feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Something isn't quite right. She doesn't know how she knows this but she does plain as anything. She shoulders her purse and ducks off to the left of the bus, trying to blend in with a group of other passengers.

Before she can take three steps, there's a hand on her elbow, holding her painfully tight. Nicky's heart leaps in her chest, her blood turns cold. When she turns, she finds herself face to face with Noah Vosen. Behind him are two hired guns.

"Miss Parsons," Vosen's voice is quiet, nearly lost in the din around them, "I'm going to need you to come with me."

Nicky swallows and looks at him. "I'll scream," she threatens.

Vosen shrugs and tells her matter-of-factly, "Then we'll just shoot you now."

Nicky follows him out of the station. This was a mistake she can see that now because as much as she wants him, there is no Jason Bourne coming to her rescue.

Aaron gives Marta his jacket to wear and turns up the collar to hide the blood on her skin and her dirty and rumpled clothing. Her head is still killing her and she feels shaky from the injury, adrenaline and the fact that she's only had a granola bar to eat all day but she manages to act normal and smile while she rents a room for the night. They're miles away from where they were before but not far enough for Aaron's taste. However, traveling with an unconscious human male makes things unnecessarily difficult and makes staying in the area a necessity, at least for the time being.

Once Marta has the room key, she asks the woman behind the desk where the bathroom is, using up the few phrases Aaron taught her, and slips out of sight, finding the employee entrance, which fortunately leads to a second stairwell. Aaron is waiting outside with Jason slumped against the side of a dumpster. Marta offers to help but Aaron seems to have the situation under control; he wouldn't be much of a government agent if he didn't have the strength to carry a grown man up several flights of stairs.

Aaron thinks it is pretty much dumb luck that they make it into their room without meeting anyone, even on the back stairwell. He sits Jason up in one of the chairs in their room, studying the man. The other agent is bruised and bloody but Aaron knows there's no serious damage done to the other man; Marta insisted that they tend his wounds before moving him. He expects Jason to start to come to any time now and he has been busy trying to figure out what to do when that happens. Jason is not going to be happy and that unhappiness could lead to him making some unwise decisions, like trying to pick up the fight where they left off or endangering Marta all over again. Aaron really doesn't want that to happen, not just because he can see how exhausted Marta is but because he really does not want to have to kill Jason.

Marta's idea about using Jason's skills to help get her sister Gemma to safety is a good one, he'll give her that. Better than what he was think about before she suggested it, which was trading Bourne for her sister. Now he thinks Marta is right and trading him might not be their best choice. It also would not be the easiest, seeing as it requires getting an unwilling Jason back to the United States with no one being the wiser.

Jason fought like a beast and he was smart both were useful to their cause. Aaron grudgingly realizes that he might have to put some of his anger and resentment toward Jason aside and view the man as an ally instead of an enemy. And that is going to be hard because his resentment centers around the way the other man treated the Doc. In Aaron's darkest hour he is haunted by the things the program asked him to do and the innocent men, women and children that they laid at his feet.

Growing up his mother had not been the greatest role model and the men she paraded through their tiny apartment had little respect for her or her son. So, it was not clear in Aaron's mind, who taught him that women are to be valued and that real men don't abuse them, it just was. That did not mean that if a woman attacked him he would not take her out, but civilians and other soft targets were unacceptable in his mind. Byer knew that.

Aaron sees Jason's eyes start to move beneath his lids, a sign that the man is starting to stir. He turns to look at Marta and finds her sitting on the edge of the bed with her eyes closed and her chin propped up in the palms of her hands. He can tell she wants to lie down but is unwilling to soil the sheets. He picked out a nicer hotel this time as a silent apology for the run-down hovel from earlier. He feels bad asking her to get up when she looks dead on her feet but he doesn't want her around when Jason regains consciousness just incase he can't appeal to the man's reason.

"Marta," she opens her eyes and turns to look at him, "why don't you go get us some dinner? Anything you want." He gives her an apologetic sort of smile.

Marta gets to her feet, her eyes darting to Jason Bourne and he knows she understands what he is asking of her. Despite the protests of her body and head. She knows Aaron would never just be sending her off to grab takeout unless he had a reason, so she does not to argue. Neither of them seems to want to disturb the new found peace between them.

Once Marta is gone, Aaron drags another chair in front of Jason's and unties the man's wrists. Sitting down Aaron waits for the man to wake up. Taking the gun from the back of his jeans Aaron removes the clip and ejects the round from the chamber. Carefully arranging all three on the table to Aaron's left, which he hopes will convince Jason that he just wants to talk. The weapon is the same distance from both of them and closest to their dominant hands. He can snatch it up in seconds if he needs to and have it loaded a moment after that, but of course so could Bourne. It is risky, but Aaron is willing to take that risk as long as Marta is not in the room.

Jason seems to come-to all at once and Aaron can see the man's body tense, his eyes narrow as he tries to figure out where he is and what threats are around him. Despite the beating he took, he still looks ready to take on another group of soldiers. He looks at Aaron and starts to stand, but pauses halfway, as though assessing the situation, before sinking back down again. Aaron doesn't know if it is the gun on the table, his non-confrontational posture or Jason's own aching body that make him decide to keep his seat.

"Where's Marta?" Jason questions.

His words surprise Aaron. He doesn't like hearing the other man using her name. Maybe he is just being silly or territorial but he doesn't feel as if Jason has the right to address Marta by name so casually, like he didn't just kidnap her, hurt her and use her as bait. He knows Jason's intentions were to kill Marta, regardless of what the other man might say and he is not going to forget that any time soon.

"Out," Aaron answers tersely.

"You're too easy to read," Jason remarks. "Even a desk jockey could see how you feel about her. Your connection to her makes you weak."

Aaron narrows his eyes. "I was strong enough to kick your ass," he replies, with a hint of a smile. "We aren't here to talk about Marta."

"Why are we talking at all? Why don't you just shoot me? I don't make a habit out of conversing with the people I'm about to kill." Jason's eyes fall on the gun before moving back to Aaron's face. "But whatever gets you off, I guess."

Aaron doesn't take the bait. He's not going to let Jason get a rise out of him, not now. He is not going to let the other man distract him in an attempt to gain the upper hand. "You know they're still after you. Treadstone and the whole deal want your head on a plate. And I'm inclined to give it to them."

Jason scoffs, shaking his head. "You're going to have to kill me. I'm going to have to be dead to get anywhere near them. But I'm sure I'll be worth just as much dead, so why not. What are you trying to buy; perfect life with a house and white picket fence for your girlfriend?"

Aaron weighs his options before responding. If he wants to convince Jason to work with him and Marta, he's going to need to show him all the cards. "They have Marta's sister. They're using her to bait us. We need to get her back."

Jason laughs, which is a surprise to Aaron. It is pretty much the last thing he expected. That and the pitying look that Jason gives him. "Are you kidding me? You're willing to play right into their hands for someone else's sister?" He shakes his head. "You _are_ weak, it's pathetic. If you actually think you can make a deal with those people, you should just shoot your girlfriend yourself. It might be kinder that way than letting those bastards do it first."

Aaron fights down the instinct to punch Jason in the face a couple of times. "I'm not a machine like you!" He snarls. The image of anyone shooting Marta is an unpleasant one and it gets the reaction out of him that Jason wanted. "I know how to lay low; I don't need to cause massive destruction everywhere I go letting people know who I am." He narrows his eyes at Jason. "And you're wrong. My feelings for Marta don't make me weak, they make me strong. Strong enough to kill every one of those bastards with my bare hands if that's what it takes to keep her safe, but you should know that."

Jason doesn't say anything for a beat and Aaron wishes he could tell what the other man was thinking. Is Jason impressed by his words or is he completely convinced of Aaron's weakness?

"So that's it then? You show up like the conquering hero and turn me over to get back this woman?" Jason arches an eyebrow. "I'm guessing they're hunting you too. And I'm guessing you know as well as I do that you'll never really be free. Not even if you give them exactly what they want."

Aaron glares at him. "Do you know _why_ I'm being hunted? Do you know _why _they want to kill Marta? Who is a scientist, by the way, a doctor? She's not like us. Do you want to know?" It's a rhetorical question, so he doesn't bother to wait for an answer. "It is because of you and because you had to go mucking around in their plans and fuck everything up. Every agent, except me, in my program is dead. They want to kill me because they don't want another you. Every scientist Marta ever worked with was killed and she only survived by grit and the skin of her teeth. The only thing Marta did was sign up to serve her country and dedicate her life to science. So why don't you stop acting like you're the big man who has everything figured out and think about what you've cost everyone else."

"I disappear! I leave them alone and the still keep coming! Do you think they will just let you live; because if that is what you think you're dumber than you look." Jason scoffs, "You think I care about you? You think I care about your little girlfriend in her glass castle?" He rolls his eyes. "Please. You're lucky. You can talk to me when you have to watch her die and know they were aiming for your head instead. You think you've lost everything? You have no idea what you can lose."

"Losing Marta is not an option." Aaron continues when Jason just arches his eyebrows but says nothing in response to his comment. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe. Including killing you and dumping your body in front of Byer's perfectly manicured lawn so he can pick you up with the morning paper."

Jason smirks. "You think killing me is going to solve your problems? Stop lying to yourself. Stop lying to her. And stop pretending like you can save her sister's life. They're going to kill all of you." He gives Aaron another pitying look. "You'll never be free."

Aaron purses his lips, the truth of Jason's words cutting him deep. He knows Jason is right, that he and Marta will never be free until they're dead. Or they start thinking about the big picture. "I don't believe that." Jason hitches one shoulder as if to say _it's your funeral buddy_. "I think we can be free. All of us; but we have to work together."

Jason arches an eyebrow. "So now you want me to partner with you? You wanted to kill me sixty seconds ago."

"We both know to them, you're more valuable dead. They can start to sweep all their problems under the rug if you're out of the picture. But to me, you're more valuable alive." Aaron points out.

"You want me to work with you?" Jason asks incredulously. "You want to take the whole thing down? I've been there, buddy, okay. It's not going to work."

Aaron shakes his head. "It can work."

"If you kill these men, they'll find others to put in their place. People worse than the ones you're dealing with now." Jason points out. "You know that. The people you want now have us to keep their hands from getting dirty. You know there are people above them who use them for the same thing."

"That's why I'm not talking about killing them." Aaron argues. "I'm talking about burning the company. Getting the information to send to the press, letting people know exactly what's going on. Pamela Landy has the right idea; she just doesn't have enough information."

Jason arches an eyebrow. "Yeah, how do you think that's working out for Landy?"

"They're crucifying her." Aaron admits, "But with more information, with all the records and dirty details on display, with the names of the real heavy hitters…they'll be too busy trying to stay out of jail to bother with us. If we burn the whole program, there will be no one left to come after us. You go your way and Marta and I will go in the opposite direction."

"I don't see where I come in." Jason points out. "You don't need me, you have all the skills and training I do and then some. And your girlfriend apparently knows the program from the inside." There's a hint of bitterness to his voice and Aaron wonders if telling Jason that Marta was one of the scientists working with the program was a bad idea.

"Strength in numbers," Aaron says, "With us you can get behind the eight-ball, without us you might just get rolled over with the rest of them.

Jason seems to mull this over for a moment. "Okay, so we get the information and give it to the boys in blue. What about your girl's sister? Isn't getting her the whole point?"

Aaron nods. "We'll trade for her. We let Byer know exactly what we've taken from the program. We'll trade that information for Gemma but release it anyway after we've got her."

Jason looks at him doubtfully. "You honestly think he'd fall for that?"

"Well, if all else fails we'll just start shooting people and hope for the best." Aaron smirks at him. "Isn't that your style?"

"Well, I usually like to have a plan that doesn't consist of 'civil trade, Plan A; shoot-out Plan B." Jason remarks a bit defensively, but there is a slight sparkle of amusement in his eyes that makes him appear more human.

Aaron scoffs. "So you did have a plan. Well that's good to know."

Both men are silent for a moment. Aaron knows that if Jason doesn't agree to help them that he's going to have to turn him back into a hostage and a bargaining tool. He wonders if Jason knows this too.

"Fine we'll try it your way. But if it looks like you're going to double-cross me in any way, I'm going to kill her and then I'm going to disappear." Jason says a cold edge to his voice. Aaron doesn't doubt Jason's words but he also knows that if he decides to cross Bourne the man's first clue would be Aaron putting a bullet in his head. "And if we actually manage to pull any of this off, which I sincerely doubt we will, I don't ever want to see your face again."

"That's not a problem, trust me." Aaron assures him. "And we will pull this off. I got you here didn't I?" He grins at the other operative.

Both men get to their feet. They're still uneasy around one another, like two predators forced to share the same pen. It could get ugly at any moment, so they're both trying to stay on their own sides of the line.

The door opens and Marta steps inside carrying several cardboard containers in a plastic bag. She stops when she sees Jason, her eyes settling on Aaron's, looking for reassurance. "It's okay." Aaron tells her. "We're all playing for the same team."

Marta doesn't look quite like she trusts Jason even on Aaron's word but she doesn't protest. Instead, she just shuts the door behind her and sets the bag of food down on the small table in the room, next to the gun.

The tension in the room is thick that Aaron is surprised it's not physically manifesting itself like a fog. Marta's nerves are putting his own on edge and he still doesn't entirely trust that Jason isn't playing him.

"Well, I guess three really is a crowd." Jason remarks after a beat. "As much as I love your company, I prefer to stay on my own." Aaron gives him a dubious look. "Don't worry I'm not going to run. Where am I going to go?"

Aaron still isn't convinced. "You expect me to just let you walk out?"

"I said I would help you and I will." Jason's voice is stern, all business. "I'm a man of my word, that is another reason my trail is littered with so many bodies, too bad they never listen. It's pretty much the only thing I have left. I'll be around. And I'll find you in the morning."

Aaron still doesn't like it, but what choice does he have? It's not like Jason can just sleep on the floor and they aren't exactly a happy threesome. If Jason sticks around, he knows Marta won't relax and what she needs most is to sleep. If Jason does run, he's almost sure he'll be able to find him again. And when he does, there's no more partnership or playing nice. And if Jason disappears then they'll just have to go to Plan C.

"Fine, but we leave in the morning." Aaron reiterates. "Don't make me wonder where you are."

Jason gives him a salute and leaves the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Marta turns toward Aaron, not bothering to hide the surprise on her face. "Okay, what the hell just happened? I thought he was our _prisoner_."

"You said it yourself, Doc, he can help us." Aaron reminds her, crossing the room to stand in front of her. "He knows about Gemma, he's agreed to help us get her back. Consider it Plan B."

"He could betray us," she murmurs.

"He could," Aaron agrees, "But I won't let that happen. Trust me."

Marta's face is momentarily unreadable and Aaron can't help but brace himself for her response; an angry Marta is not something that he has the energy for right now. But she just sighs, her shoulders loosening as the tension leaves her body. "Okay. If you trust him…I trust you."

Aaron gives her a little smile. "Thank you." He takes one of her hands and gives it a squeeze. "We'll get your sister back, Doc. I promise."

Marta smiles wanly in return. "I know." She gives his hand before pulling hers free. "I'm going to shower."

"What about food?" Aaron gestures toward the boxes on the table. "You need to get something in you."

"Right now, I need to take a scalding hot shower and to try and forget everything that happened today—that is what I need." Marta informs him. "And then, maybe, I'll get around to eating." Aaron can't really argue with her. She looks exhausted, beaten down. If a shower is what she wants, well, he likes her to have what she wants.

Marta moves into the bathroom, pulling door to behind her. Aaron makes sure the door is locked and the windows are secure and a few seconds later, Aaron hears the sound of the water turning on and he can soon see steam escaping from the cracked door. He thinks about Marta and how lucky he is to have her back.

Jason wasn't wrong when he said he didn't know anything about loss. It could be much, much worse. He can't protect Marta completely, today has proved that. All it takes is a second, a well-aimed bullet, a careless mistake on his part and she'll be lost. There are no do-overs in that scenario. Even tearing the government buildings apart brick by brick won't bring Marta back from the dead.

Suddenly, Aaron can't stand the thought of being away from her. He needs her in his arms, needs to hold her close to know she's real and safe and his. He would give himself up before he let anything happen to her. He needs her so much it's almost like a physical pain.

Aaron nudges the bathroom door open before he can talk himself out of it and steps into the room. He pushes the shower curtain back enough to see Marta when she turns in his direction. She doesn't look surprised to see him; her tired eyes betray the fact that she hoped it would come to this. They lock eyes for a moment and Marta beckons him to her. Aaron always has been good at following orders.

He kicks off his shoes, but steps fully clothed into the stall. They aren't ready for what his body is demanding; Marta is hurt and all he wants is to be near her without the demands of his carnal body. He has never seen her naked before. She has seen every part of him but he feels like that was some other man she poked, prodded, scraped and bled, in some other life.

Marta still has her back turned to him and he admires the slender curve of her back and the soft swell of her bottom. Reaching out he gently strokes just the tips of his fingers along her shoulders and down her sides to cup her hips. She shudders and steps back into his body letting her head drop to his shoulder, but she flinches when a sore spot meets his hard flesh and bone.

Aaron wraps one arm around her waist and skims the other up her body to angle her head more comfortably on his shoulder. Marta's eyes are wide and trusting as he strokes her cheek and bends his head to hers brushing his lips softly and then more urgently across hers. She sighs, gently flicking her tongue out to taste him as she nestles closer to his body. Aaron lifts his head searching her eyes and when he sees the naked desire there, too, he claims her mouth in their first kiss.

She whimpers, but not from pain as he lightly strokes his fingers along her throat and hip. Almost without thought they are writhing together as the kiss intensifies, but as amazing as this is, it is not what he came in here for. Tenderly, easing his lips from Marta's, Aaron steps incrementally away from her slick body. Finding a wet cloth and liquid soap Aaron carefully begins washing her neck, shoulders and back.

"Aaron," she murmurs, slightly confused.

"Shh, Doc," he whispers as he presses a kiss to the side of her throat just beneath her ear. "Let me do this."

Slowly, methodically, as only a program asset could be, Aaron bathed Marta and gently washed her hair. His strong fingers carefully massaging her scalp and hair with the cheap hotel shampoo until the water ran cool and clear. Turning off the water Aaron pulled a towel from the shelf and carefully wrapped Marta in it before getting another for her to cover her hair with.

Helping her from the tub Aaron watched as she moved to the counter and began rubbing lotion into her still damp skin. She was that kind of woman, the kind that moisturized and primped just enough to make it look as if she had spent hours when really it was just brows, lashes and lips. She was so far above his pay-grade.

Quickly, efficiently, Aaron shucked his wet cloths and turned the water back on. He was still filthy and the fact that the water was now ice cold was a plus. Being military he was used to the three minute shower and it did not take even that for him to wash his hair and body. Turning off the water he pulled the curtain fully open and was surprised to find Marta leaning her hip against the counter holding his towel.

The way she ran her eyes over his body was nothing like she had done before when he found himself naked in her presence, but then he had not been a man to her. She stepped over to him and offered him the towel, her cheeks flushed with a charming blush. It made him smile, the fact that she had seen him naked on thirteen different occasions and she could still blush.

Wrapping the towel around his hips Aaron stepped out of the tub. Marta smiled softly as she took his hand in hers and lead him into the bedroom.


	8. Chapter 8

**Eight **

Whenever Gemma sleeps she dreams. Gone are the days when she could drift off as soon as her head hit the pillow. Along with those when she awoke rested with nothing more troubling on her mind than what she will eat for breakfast. She has never been plagued by nightmares; she never remembered any of the dreams she might have had the night before. Of course, circumstances are totally different now. Now Gemma is getting used to the sounds of the building around her and is used to going to sleep with an empty stomach and a man standing guard right outside the door, not protecting her, imprisoning her. She always sleeps fitfully, roused by the chill of the room or the uncomfortably thin mattress pressed against the wall. And, of course, there are the dreams.

Mostly, they are nightmares; she is lost in the woods or trapped in a dark room. It doesn't take a genius to figure out where her subconscious is getting these images from, but what comfort is there in understanding her own mind's workings. Gemma sometimes dreams that Marta is the one who is lost, but it is Marta from twenty years ago, when she was just a little girl. Sometimes, Marta is the victim in her nightmares; she has had to watch her sister killed execution style over and over again. Others, Marta is the enemy, the one locking her in this cell and throwing away the key. Even Gemma's subconscious can't seem to decide where Marta's loyalties lie.

Gemma is awakened from a particularly disquieting dream by the sound of unfamiliar voices floating down the hallway. She sits up quickly, pulling her knees up to her chest. A man she has never seen before stops in front of the door to her cell, ignoring her as he pulls a ring of keys out of his back pocket and fishes around for the right one. Two uniformed men come up to stand behind him, clearly struggling to restrain a dark-haired woman, who is trying to free herself from their grasp. One man grunts in pain as the woman slams her heel into his instep.

The first man gives the guards a look. "You got her?" He questions snidely, rolling his eyes. "Jesus Christ." He unlocks the door to the cell and Gemma wonders if she would stand a chance if she tried to run. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem likely.

Once the door to the cell swings open, the uniformed men unceremoniously toss the other woman inside. The woman stumbles but does not lose her footing. She spins around and lunges for the door, just as it is being locked tightly once more. She wraps her hands around the bars, looking far more angry than afraid. "Vosen, you motherfucker, how could you do this to me," She shouts as the three men start retreating down the hallway. "Let me out!"

Gemma watches the other woman silently. She must know that her words are falling on deaf and uncaring ears but maybe it is making her feel better, so Gemma decides not going to point out the obvious. Gemma can hear a door open and close and the other woman finally turns away from the bars.

"He was always a prick to think I used to work for that bastard." She says when her eyes fall on Gemma. "I guess this is the retirement plan."

Gemma barks out a little laugh and the sound is surprising to her ears. She has not had much to laugh about recently.

"I'm Nicky." The woman sits down on the floor across from where Gemma is sitting. "What're you in for?"

"Gemma Shearing," She introduces herself in return. "And apparently I'm a terrorist."

Nicky nods, smirking slightly. "Yeah, me too," She hitches on shoulder in a sort of shrug. "Shearing…why does that sound familiar?" Her brow knits as she thinks it over.

"My sister is Dr. Marta Shearing." Gemma explains. "She's been all over the news. Apparently she's a terrorist too." Maybe she sounds a little bitter but she feels like she's entitled.

Nicky arches an eyebrow. "Dr. Shearing, right. I've met her a few times."

This is not something Gemma was expecting to hear. She leans forward, moving to perch on the edge of the mattress, feeling like a child eager to hear a bedtime story. "You knew her?" Maybe this woman can shed some light on this whole situation. Though, to be fair, she's also imprisoned on the suspicion of being a terrorist, so maybe there is some truth to Marta's new reputation after all.

"I didn't really know her," Nicky corrects. "I've met her a few times at Company conferences and stuff. We mainly just talked about her work."

Gemma can't keep the doubtful look off her face. "She talked about her work with you?"

Nicky shrugs, "We were working on similar programs." She sees something in Gemma's eyes and adds, "She never would have talked to me about it if we hadn't both worked for the same program. Talking about work outside of work is a big no-no, even for family members."

Gemma purses her lips and leans back against the cool wall behind her. So Nicky used to work with her sister, which officially makes her the first one of Marta's co-workers that she's ever known by name. Nicky's confirmation that Marta was working for a secret black-ops program comes as a bit of a shock. She's always thought Marta kept her work to herself because the company she worked for was worried that someone else would steal their research or ideas. But now she realizes it was because they were playing outside the realms of the law.

"What…what kinds of things were they working on," Gemma questions, returning her attention to Nicky.

"I can't say for sure. Your sister was a scientist; I was more of a technical person, computers and psychology." Nicky replies. "I know she was part of the team experimenting on the next generation of operatives, working on genetic coding and stuff."

It all sounds like science fiction to Gemma. "Experiments," She murmurs, thinking about Nicky's words, "On…on people?" It just doesn't seem like something her sister would consent to: using human beings as guinea pigs. It doesn't seem like something a government program would sanction either. She feels like she might have landed in a Robin Cook novel.

The look in Nicky's eyes is enough to answer Gemma's question. "Anything your sister did was just her following orders." Gemma isn't sure if Nicky is trying to make her feel better or just stating a fact. "That's all any of us did. It's when we stop being good little boys and girls that the trouble starts."

Gemma stares down at her hands. Nicky's words aren't meshing with the picture of her sister that she has in her mind. Marta, was always far more entranced by theories and equations than she has been by people. She even tried to become a vegetarian, once, because she saw a documentary about the conditions of farm animals. Marta performing experiments on human beings. It was surreal; Marta might very well be a terrorist after all.

"Do you…do you think it's true," Gemma asks, looking up at Nicky once more, dreading her answer. "That she…could she really be doing everything they're accusing her of?"

Nicky snorts out a laugh. "No. Calling people terrorists is their go to line; no one wants to argue when you call someone a terrorist. I'm sure the only thing your sister did was live."

"Live," Gemma repeats incredulously. "What the hell are you talking about?" Her brow knits in confusion.

"I don't know much about your sister and I don't know what she has gotten herself into but I have the feeling that the first thing she did to piss them off was survive whatever attempt they made at killing her." Nicky responds, matter-of-factly. "This whole thing has become a giant mess, a mess the program is trying desperately to clean up before the public gets wind of what is being done in the guise of National Security. If you want to ensure that people aren't talking about the type of shit that's going on in these defense programs, then you kill them. Dead people can be trusted to keep secrets; the living—Not so much."

Gemma lets her words sink in for a minute. She feels a cold pit spread throughout her stomach. "The shooting at the lab…"

Nicky nods, "Yeah that sounds like their M.O. Leave no witnesses and make some poor schmuck the scapegoat."

But Gemma doesn't really hear her. "The house fire…" The coincidences that had seemed like much more than that…her inability to accept the fact that her sister had narrowly avoided being murdered only to die a day later…they weren't coincidences after all.

"If they wanted to just kill her, why say she's a terrorist," Gemma questions. It feels good to finally have someone to talk to, someone who will answer all these desperate questions that have been ping-ponging around in her mind.

Nicky shrugs. "No matter where she runs, her picture will be on every most wanted list." Nicky sighs and glances away. Gemma can tell she is not going to like what Nicky says next and she doesn't, "She won't make it long on her own." Nicky pauses and an expression of understanding flits across her face as she murmurs as if thinking aloud, "Unless someone helps her. That's it, isn't it? That's why they want her so bad. She helped one of them."

Gemma's brow knits in confusion, "What are you talked about?" But she doesn't wait for an answer. "None of this makes any sense! They can't just make this up! This is the government!" Nicky just stares at her and Gemma feels as if the other girl is questioning her intelligence. "They said that she killed people."

"If you want to believe that she's guilty so badly why are you even asking me what I think?" Nicky questions bluntly. "You seem like you've already made up your mind, but ask yourself this…"

"What," Gemma demanded; her hands tight fists at her sides.

"Are _you _a terrorist?"

"I already told you I wasn't," she banged her fists petulantly.

"But the government doesn't lie," Nicky snorted. "By your very reasoning you, yourself, are a terrorist. You believe your sister is capable of the things they said and there for you condemn yourself in the process of condemning your sister."

"I don't want to believe that she's guilty, I don't want to believe she could do those things!" Gemma snaps back. All the anger and fear and confusion she has been feeling is starting to rise to the surface and Nicky is the only outlet at the moment. But Nicky seems unimpressed by her outburst as it is. "But it doesn't make sense! I'm in this God-damn cell and Marta is-"

"Probably out there, somewhere, fighting for her life," Nicky interrupts before Gemma has the chance to finish. "At least here, _you're_ safe until your sister is dead and then you'll be of no use to them any longer. So, if I were you," Nicky advised as she shifted to lie on the cold cement floor. "I'd pray to be in this cell for a damned long time."

Gemma scoffs. "Safe? Is that what you call this?"

Nicky gives her a pitying look. "Yeah, I do, because you're not out there wondering if a sniper is about to put a bullet in your head. Or if the person who just walked into the restaurant, you finally take a moment to sit down to rest and order a cup of coffee in, is going to pull out a gun and shoot you. You're safe for now."

Nicky's words to started to finally sink in, "Jesus," Gemma mutters, covering her face with her hands, trying to block out Nicky's words but it is impossible to keep the images from her mind. Her heart is pounding inside her chest as she thinks about Marta on the run, being shot down in the street by some sniper's bullet. "What's going on," She shakes her head, tears pricking her eyes. "How is this happening to us?"

Nicky doesn't bother to respond, there's no reason to. She doesn't have an answer anyway. Some people just have bad luck.

Gemma lifts her head to look at Nicky. "So why are you here? Why do they want you?"

For a beat, Nicky doesn't answer and Gemma can see her mind going miles away, to memories only she's privy to. "I broke their number one rule." She says finally murmurs and Gemma could swear there is sadness writ upon every line of the woman's body. "I fell in love."

Jason arrives bright and early the following morning; almost too early, if someone were to ask Aaron's opinion. He slept soundly for the first time in years, his arms around Marta as she slept against his chest. The night before is still fresh in his mind and he smiles remembering their shower and then eating cold take-out propped against the headboard. After donning his boxers he found Marta a t-shirt to wear and they had a quiet dinner. Marta sat nestled between his legs and her back pressed to his chest while they ate and planned for the journey home, to America. Waking up with her still curled beside him, knowing that what they felt was not something he made up in his mind…it made him never want to leave this moment. But it also made him want to fight harder to keep her safe.

Jason did not look very pleased to be walking into their hotel room but at least he was here and Aaron figures he could not ask for me than that. The injuries on Jason's face are starting to heal and he has some nasty bruises on his neck but Aaron saw the bruises on Marta's skin too, so he doesn't spare any sympathy for the devil.

"I assume you have passports," Jason says without preamble as he sets his backpack down on the table. "Do you have the tickets yet?" His eyes flick toward the laptop, open on the bed. "And a secure connection?"

Aaron hits his forehead with the heel of his hand, "Oh, no, I totally forgot. Thank God I have you here to tell me how to survive." He gives the other operative a look. "This isn't amateur hour."

Jason arches an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the bathroom where Marta is. "Really," he mutters, "Could have fooled me."

Aaron takes a step in Jason's direction, his mouth open to offer a retort but Marta interrupts before he gets the chance. "Will you both knock it off," She calls from the bathroom, where she's changing and washing the sleep from her face. "Or do I need to get out my measuring tape?"

Aaron smirks and feels the tension start to leave his body. He thinks it will be a miracle if he manages to keep himself from killing Jason before this whole operation is over. Deciding to play nice Aaron reaches into his pack and pulls out two passports, "We have the passports." Aaron says in response to Jason's earlier question, "We just need to do the pictures." He drops the passports on the bed next to the computer. "All the tickets are booked."

"Different flights and routes, right?" Jason questions and Aaron has to bite his tongue but he does not refrain from giving the ex-Treadstone operative an icy glare.

The bathroom door opens and Marta walks out, tossing her towel into the corner and pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail. Jason glances in her direction. "You're going to dye your hair." It doesn't sound like a question.

Marta gives him a look. "Uh, no," she shakes her head saying, "Blondes don't really have more fun you know." Jason just stares at her and she rolls her eyes. "I'm getting a wig."

Now it's Jason's turn to roll his eyes. "It better be a really great wig." He says snidely. "This isn't the Girl Scouts. We're going to be traveling across international borders, going through customs in every country and trying to get back into the United States, where all three of us are on the shoot-first-ask-questions-later criminal list." Jason glares at her. "And you want to wear a wig."

Marta meets his gaze unflinchingly. "It's a really great wig." She replies evenly.

Aaron fights down the urge to laugh; Jason doesn't look like he finds the whole conversation very funny. Aaron turns toward the other operative. "We made it this far without your help we sure as hell don't need it now." He informs Jason.

Jason arches his eyebrows. "Oh, I was under the impression that you _did_ need my help. Isn't that why I'm here?"

"You are here," Aaron growls, "Because you took it upon yourself to try and kill us, but Marta thinks you might be useful for something other than your good looks."

"So, you don't really need me," Bourne inquires, arching his brow as he steps closer to Aaron. "You just figure you might as well use my skills."

"I can just shoot you if that's preferable," Aaron snaps.

"Enough!" Marta shouts and they both turn to look at her. "This isn't a game of who has the bigger dick; this is my sister's life we're talking about. This is _all_ of our lives. And you're both acting like children. I get it, okay? You're both big, strong men. You," she points a finger at Jason and Aaron's smile increases as she takes the asset to task, "need to stop being such an asshole and fall in line. And you," Aaron's smile disappears when she turns her gaze onto him, "we don't have enough people trying to kill us? Now we're threatening to kill each other?" She crosses her arms over her chest. "We're never going to make it if we can't even work together long enough to leave the hotel."

When the men just stood silently with displeasure written on their faces Marta sighed, "This isn't an ideal situation for any of us but we need to get over wha—what was done yesterday, it was a silly misunderstanding, and move on." Marta grabs her bag off the bed and slings it over her shoulder. "I'm going to grab a few things. Do you boys think you can handle being left alone for a little while or do I need to separate you?" She eyes them both challengingly before she rolls her eyes and storms out of the room.

Aaron and Jason both watch her leave the room before Jason turns to Aaron with a smirk as the door shuts behind her, "Interesting."

"You have no idea." Aaron replies, shaking his head. "She's right though. We can't be at each other's throats like wolves. We've got to work together or we are never going to pull this off."

Jason shrugs, "I still don't think we are going to pull it off at all."

Aaron fights down the urge to hit Jason a few times for good measure. This man really isn't bringing out the best in him. "Well, then I look forward to saying I told you so."

"I hope you can." Jason tells him sincerely. "I hope I'm wrong."

"You will be."

Marta came back half an hour later with the last few things they need to return to the United States, namely a way to make herself look unrecognizable. Aaron isn't ashamed to admit that the one he's most worried about is Marta. Even though Jason's picture has been seeing a lot more screen-time, men are generally more nondescript than women. There are only so many ways you can describe a man and those features usually fit into a very broad pool. Aaron figures someone could pick his and Jason's pictures out of a group if they were spotted, but he doubts anyone is going to spot them in a crowded airport and realize they're wanted fugitives. Once they get through security, he knows they'll be fine.

But he is worried that the good doctor won't be so lucky. He doesn't think anyone will disagree with the statement that Marta is a very beautiful woman and beautiful women have a tendency to attract attention from both sexes. The more heads turn when Marta walks by, the longer people look at her, the more likely they are to recognize her. They had the advantage when they left for Manila because they weren't being hunted as hotly as they are now. Aaron hasn't voiced these fears because he doesn't want to put doubt in Marta's mind and change her behavior and the last thing he wants is for Jason to see that as a flaw in their plan but he knows he is not going to relax until they are all safe on U.S. soil and together again. Traveling separately is not something he is looking forward to either but they are more likely to avoid detection that way.

When Marta walks out of the bathroom in her new wig and contacts, Aaron has to admit that it's like looking at a different woman. Her hair is now long and blonde and her eyes match his in color. She is still a beautiful woman, but she is a beautiful blonde, which is something Marta Shearing definitely is not.

"What do you think," Marta questions, batting her eyes and flipping her hair. "Should I make it permanent?"

Aaron smiles and shakes his head. "No, I don't think so." He tells her honestly. He's always been a fan of brunettes.

Marta gives him a faux-pout. "Really; I think there might be something to that rumor, I feel like I'm having more fun already."

"Well, I'm glad you're having fun." Jason comments from his spot at the table, where he's putting the finishing touches up on Aaron's passport. "Come here so I can take your picture, Dana Scarborough." He commands, referencing the name on her newest passport. Marta wonders how she's going to keep them all straight.

She stands up against the wall and gives her best smile, but Jason is just staring at her with an odd look in his eyes.

"Are you okay," she asks frowning, and Jason suddenly comes to life looking down and fiddling with the camera in his hands. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he mutters, "You just look like someone I used to know; Nicky always wore her hair like that." The admission was clearly unintended and that mad the already irritated man even more upset. "Can we take the picture?"

"Of course," Marta nods and smiles, a little less brightly at the camera.

Neither Marta nor Aaron try and engage Jason in further conversation as he continues to work. They can both tell that he prefers it that way. Marta goes to stand by the mirror, studying her appearance. She's never once thought about dying her hair and now she sees why; she's definitely not meant to be blonde even a dirty blond. Her eyebrows are too dark and she thinks it is a good thing she did not choose a lighter shade or even the reddish blond the store clerk tried to interest her in.

Aaron comes to stand behind her, putting his hands on her hips, his touch light and gentle. Marta meets his gaze in the glass. "I don't even look like myself," She remarks.

"You're not yourself," Aaron hates to say it, but it is true, "You're Dana Scarborough. There is no more Marta Shearing." The sooner Marta accepts that fact for truth, the sooner she is able to let go of her hold self unless she's around him, the more believable she will become to those she comes into contact with. "Don't forget, once you get to Heathrow ditch the wig and change into the habit."

Marta makes a face. "Yes, the habit, how could I forget," She mutters. "It's what every woman dreams of wearing."

Aaron smiles slightly. "No one will recognize you. No one will even look twice at a nun." He points out. "You'll be safe." He's never been the type of man to believe in God but that hasn't stopped him from praying to a benevolent entity all morning. Marta's safety is all he's been asking for.

"Unless they are a pervert," Jason mutters as he works on her passport, "But I doubt a sexual deviant will feel comfortable calling security on a suspected terrorist. A nun was a good choice."

Aaron sighs, shaking his head and Marta's eyes have grown huge when he opens them again. No sooner has their gaze locked than Marta is laughing uncontrollably. "Thanks," she snickers and then bites her lips. Until she sees the slight quirk in Jason's lips and she realizes that he actually had been joking and then she was laughing again. "Oh, God, the two of you will be the death of me."

Marta was not one hundred percent sure, but she thought she heard Jason mumble, "Probably."

Marta turned in Aaron's arms until they were face to face. "What about you? What will you be?" She doesn't like the idea of separating from Aaron but she sees the logic in it so she is not going to argue despite the protests that threaten to escape her lips. He seems to think he will blind in; but she really doesn't like the idea of Aaron walking around all these airports and trying to cross the ocean with little more than a baseball cap to hide who he really is. If something happened to him…Well, that is not an idea she can stomach. Even worse is the knowledge that she would probably never even know if something happened to him until hours or days later, when she saw it on the news. Marta puts her arms around him and holds him closely, like that can somehow keep them connected.

Aaron kisses the crown of her head lightly, "Safe as houses, Doc." He says softly. He loves the feeling of having her in his arms he knows that they will feel empty without her when she is gone. It is almost enough to make him scrap the whole idea, to send a Hail Mary Gemma's way and take Marta to some deserted island and keep her there and safe forever. But he knows that is not possible, not anymore. Not when they have the possibility of earning their freedom once and for all. Aaron is selfish man, he always has been, and he does not want to let Marta go, but he is not selfish enough to ignore the chance of giving her a life and her freedom. "Don't worry about me; just be confident. You're my warrior." He says against her hair.

Marta tightens her grip on him. "I don't like this." She presses her face against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It's calm and steady, like him. Not like the erratic beating in her chest.

"It gets easier," Aaron kisses her temple. "We can't help Gemma from here." He reminds her. "This is our chance, or we can keep running and looking over our shoulders forever."

Marta looks up at him, searching his cool blue eyes. He looks confident and in control, like always. She wonders what she would give up to keep him safe and with her always. Would she accept a life on the run if it meant running with him? Would she leave her sister behind as collateral to keep this man safe? The answer scares her, because she thinks she would.

"You can do this," Aaron assures her, taking her face in his hands. "You'll take the flight to Iran and then connect to London. And remember to get rid of-"

"I know." Marta interrupts gently. She knows this is Aaron's way of expressing his worry that is the reason for his continual need to repeat the plan over and over.

But she knows what she is supposed to do she has repeated it to herself so many times it feels like second nature. She is not worried about herself; she thinks she has it easy.

Aaron and Jason are both taking circuitous routes to get back to the U.S., opting for smaller airports and illogical stops. Aaron is flying out of France and into Canada before crossing the border and flying into D.C. Jason departs from Portugal and is flying directly to Virginia before flying into D.C. Marta knows their itineraries as well as her own, as though she can somehow keep them safe with her knowledge.

"I know you do, Doc," Aaron smiles, assuring her that he has confidence in her. "Don't worry."

"I won't." But they both know it is a lie.

They stand there for a few moments more, just holding onto one another. All too soon, they hear Jason getting to his feet, shutting the laptop, "We're ready. Let's go."

"Daddy," the excited cry from the second floor stops the man in his tracks in the front hall, "Daddy!" Eric Byer has to admit, the sound of a seven-year-old shouting for him as she hurries down the stairs is one of his favorite sounds in the world. He puts down his briefcase in time to catch Bella as she launches herself into his arms, throwing her arms around his shoulders. "You're home!"

Byer smiles and kisses both of her cheeks and then top of her head before sitting her down. "Hello Pumpkin, how was your day?"

Bella follows him, skipping along behind him, as he walks toward the master bedroom, which sits on the first floor of the house toward the back. "Today in art, Mrs. Hopkins said we're going to start working on our clay animals soon. I think I'm going to make mine into a hedgehog, but I haven't really decided yet. Either that or a wolf…Or an elephant…Maybe, even, a cheetah."

Byer laughs, pulling off his tie. "Well, those are all great animals; I can see why you're having a hard time choosing."

Bella hops up onto the edge of the bed. "How was your day, Daddy? Did you catch a lot of bad-guys?"

Byer knows that Bella doesn't know much about what he does, only that he keeps her and the rest of the world safe from those who want to do them harm. He doesn't want to scare her or bore her with too many details and he also doesn't like to lie to his children. Keeping them in the dark is one thing, withholding specifics about the things he sees and does is a necessity. But that doesn't mean he makes a habit of blatantly lying to them. The less information they have, the better.

"You bet, baby." Byer gives her a smile. "Where is your mom and sister?" Bella just shrugs. "You don't know? Okay, let Daddy change and I'll be right out, okay?"

Bella scampers out of his room, shutting the door behind her. When Byer emerges once more, he finds Bella in the kitchen with his wife, Abigail, who is in the middle of pulling a pot out from beneath the counter. Byer comes up behind her, putting his arms around her waist. She jumps in surprise but smiles widely as she turns around to kiss him. "I was wondering if you were home yet." She says, setting the pot onto the counter.

"Just walked in," he tells her, giving her another quick kiss. "How was your day? Where's Gracie?"

"Studying at a friend's house," Abigail replies. "She should be home for dinner though. So don't worry. Susie's mom is going to bring her home."

Bella skips over, tugging on her father's hand. It is plain to anyone watching that she has been her Daddy's little girl since she was old enough to crawl and that's exactly how Byer wants to keep it. In fact, if he could keep her at this age forever, if he could make it so she's always excited when he walks through the door and always eager for his attention, he'd do that too. "Daddy, will you help me with my homework? I need to use the globe in your office." Byer allows her to pull him away from his wife and tug him in the direction of his office.

The room is pretty much just for show, seeing as he doesn't make a habit of bringing his work home with him. There is not a trace of anything he does during the day within these four-walls. He doesn't mix business with his personal life.

He and Bella work on her social studies assignment until Abigail calls for them to wash up for dinner. Grace, his thirteen-year-old, walks in right as Bella finishes setting the table and gives her dad a quick hug before running up to her room to drop her stuff off. Byer knows all kids have to grow up eventually, but he misses the days when Gracie was as excited as Bella to see him walk through the front door every afternoon. He also misses the days when he could call her Gracie without getting an eye-roll and a protest of being too old for such childish nicknames.

The conversation at the table centers mainly around what Bella did at school that day and the latest drama with Grace's classmates. Apparently, there are some teenaged boys that need a trip out to the wood shed. Byer swears that children his daughter's age shouldn't have stories to tell that rival the daytime dramas Abigail usually tapes to watch after the girls are tucked in bed at night. He imagines one of the little pricks knocking on his door and asking for Grace and then he imagines scaring the piss out of him. Byer smirks at the thought of taking the kid to his office and showing off his gun collection in the pantry-sized gun safe behind his desk.

Listening to his daughters talk about their innocent problems and concerns makes it easy for Byer to forget about the strain of the past few days and the stress of showing up to work every day. This afternoon, he came out of a meeting to discover that Gemma Shearing now had a cell mate: the ever delightful Nicky Parsons. He has no idea how Vosen managed to get his hands on the girl but he has a feeling having her in custody is going to be more trouble than it's worth.

The woman has always been a firecracker and loose cannon. He wanted to drop her from the program the second they found out that she was sleeping with Bourne but Conklin had fought to keep her around. After Bourne had disappeared, Byer had figured the problem was over. Clearly, he was wrong.

If Byer had it his way, he would have put a bullet in Nicky Parson's head and make her a leading story. He was sure that would further entice Dr. Shearing, and by extension Outcome 5, to come to Gemma Shearing's aid. He cannot kill Gemma and make a public spectacular out of it but he can use Nicky for the same purpose. It might lit a fire under Cross and his doctor. Besides the bitch was having an undesirable effect on his prisoner. Gemma who had shown signs of breaking just days earlier now seemed buoyed by anger and indignation. He will tell Vosen to green-light a team to take care of Bourne's very forgettable paramour. He would make sure the news had a nice mug-shot of the girl after all it would never do for Marta to think her sister died. Besides if he got lucky maybe Bourne will see the report and Byer can kill two birds with one stone. They could make it look like an accident and only televise that a woman arrested in connection to the Shearing case had died while in transit to a federal holding facility. It shouldn't be too hard Nicky was barely trained.

Byer tuned back into the conversation as soon as he heard Gracie mention something about going to the 9th grade homecoming dance with a boy in the grade above hers; he decides he will clean his guns tonight. He pushes thoughts of Nicky and the Shearing sisters from his mind. Clearly, there are more important things to worry about.

Marta blinks as she steps out of Ronald Reagan National Airport and into the brilliant midmorning sun. Everything feels like it has passed in a bit of a whirlwind and to be honest, she can't believe she even made it here at all. Most people did not even give her a second glance as she made her way from place to place, unless they were checking her out. Though that stopped being a problem once she stopped being Dana Scarborough and transformed into Sister Agnes Weathers. She can't wait to shed that persona but that won't happen until she is checking into their hotel under yet another alias.

Marta takes a minute to take in her surroundings. There are people milling about, exchanging greetings or saying their goodbyes. Vibrant taxis line the curb and more vehicles try to navigate the snarl to drop off their passengers or to pick up loved ones. American flags flap proudly from nearly every available pole and Marta stares at the stars and stripes as she steps forward to hail a taxi.

"Home, sweet home," she mutters, too bad it feels more bitter than sweet. She needed to get to the hotel. Her nerves were all a jangle and she knows that the stress of waiting for Aaron is going to make her an obvious wreck. Taking a deep breath she gives the name of the hotel to the cabby and then sits back watching the traffic around her almost afraid that she will find miss a tail and end up on the wrong end of a sniper's rifle.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nine**

The hotel that Marta finds herself in, in D.C. is a far cry from the places she has been staying the past few days. She allows herself to indulge a little, taking a few moments to appreciate the accommodations: an actual clean shower, plush towels and high-end scented shampoo. An unfairly comfortable looking queen sized bed is stacked high with a half dozen pillows and is centered in front of a flat screen TV, which Marta thinks, is bigger than her old car. She is unnaturally happy to find the mini bar is stocked and that the city heat is being cooled to a frigid sixty-eight degrees by the central air conditioning system. Creature comforts that she has definitely missed while on the run, but standing in the room admiring all the things it has, Marta can only think of the things it doesn't.

Aaron has not arrived yet and she lets her mind worry about him for a moment before she forces the gnawing fear back into the box it crawled out of; Aaron would be fine. She drops her little carry on bag onto the floor and collapses onto the edge of the bed. Her bones feel tired, hell even her hair feels tired; pretty much everything about her is exhausted. But Marta knows she is not going to be able to sleep, not well at least. Not until she knows that Aaron is safe. Marta's eyes flick to the clock on the bedside table. She knows she shouldn't expect him until early-afternoon tomorrow if everything went perfectly and all the flights were on time. And that is plenty of time to drive Marta crazy worrying about the worst case scenarios.

Marta gets up and walks over to the window that stretches nearly across the length of the wall. She pulls back the curtain, just enough to see out, and is treated to the sight of bustling D.C. life three stories below her. Once again, she finds herself envying the people in the cars that aren't concerned with whether the black sedan two cars back is following them and the many people walking down the sidewalk uncaring about being seen and carefree as they laugh and joke. There are certain things about her new life that she would never trade but there are a lot of things she wishes were different. Mainly the fact that her sister is being held against her will in conjunction with a terrorist plot that does not even exist and she would give almost anything if she and Aaron did not have to look over their shoulders for the rest of their lives.

Now that she is in D.C., Marta finds it even harder to keep her mind off Gemma than it was before. It is like she can feel her sister somehow among all these people and it makes her heart hurt. This never should have happened to any of them but especially not Gemma. Marta is enough of a pragmatist to know that her choices lead her to this place, but Gemma's only 'crime' was being her sister. Gemma does not have any blood on her hands, not like the rest of them and that is what made this so much more unjust. Aaron promised they would get her sister out of this and Marta has no choice but to trust that they will indeed be able to save Gemma.

She might not like it, but she is going to have to start trusting Jason. He might not be happy about it, but at least he was here. Marta has seen flashes of hurt and sadness in the man that helps her see him as more human and that gives her a bit of trust that Bourne won't do or say anything to sabotage or betray them.

Letting the curtain fall back across the window, Marta turns away, walking the length of the room and feeling a bit like a caged animal. Unfortunately, there is only one way out. But that also means there is only one way in, which makes Marta feel marginally better. She confirms that the door is locked and slides the chain in place, for good measure. If someone really wanted to get in, that probably would not stop them but it would give her plenty of warning that she was going to have company. She can work with that.

Marta showers the grime of travel off her body, letting the steaming hot water relax her muscles. Closing her eyes as she soaps her body she thinks of last night, had it really only been less than twenty hours earlier, when Aaron bathed her so carefully. It was strange, he had run the cloth over every inch of her, but even when his hands had been on her breasts or between her thighs it had not been sexual. It felt, Marta frowned as she contemplated the weight and solemnity of the moment, ritualistic. Yes, that was a perfect way to describe the slide of his hands and the care upon his face. Sighing, Marta opened her eyes; somehow the act of bathing is just not the same without Aaron.

She changes into a pair of sweat pants and a tank top and pulls back the sheets on the bed, arranging the pillows to prop herself up. She flips on the TV and looks for any reports that involve Gemma or fugitives being detained trying to get back into the United States. The ticker at the bottom of the screen on one news channel is scrolling past a blurb about another woman who was arrested in connection with a terrorist plot but they don't list her name or give too many details. The little voice in the back of Marta's mind assures her it is not a coincidence.

Marta keeps flipping through channels until everything blurs together. It does not do much to distract her mind from Aaron. She orders room service and settles on watching _Down with Love_, hoping a mindless romantic-comedy will keep her focused long enough to stop worrying about Aaron. And it does because she falls asleep before her room service even arrives.

The times he has in between flights are the moments that stress Jason out the most. He can keep his cool during security checks and the flights themselves are nothing to write home about. All he has to do is flash a smile at the flight attendants offering him cookies or pretzels and he has them more focused on his looks than whether or not he is a government fugitive. But sitting around in the terminals, waiting for boarding to start or for his connection to arrive is something that rubs on Jason's nerves raw. These are the moments when any one of the passing security guards can look too closely and have a brain synapses that lands him in handcuffs. Every second he spends in the waiting area is a perfect opportunity for CNN or some other local news station to flash his picture and alert his fellow passengers to who it is they are traveling with.

Jason tries to keep a low profile; he pretends to sleep so he can keep most of his face hidden against his shoulder. He has bought so many papers and magazines that he has actually started reading the articles instead of just using them to cover his face. But he is in the home stretch now; it is just a short flight into D.C. and then it is on to step two of this suicidal plan. He cannot believe he has actually made it this far, that he managed to slip back into the U.S. without anyone raising an eyebrow, a second time. It really makes Jason doubt the security of the nation if the most televised criminal can just board a plane and set foot on U. S. soil. Then again his very all-American look is what Daniel's had been looking for when he recruited Jason and it appeared he was correct in assuming that he would be able to slip from country to country unhindered.

He wonders if Aaron and Marta have managed to make it through as well and he is a little surprised to find that he actually cares. Marta should be in D.C. by now; she would have made it in yesterday and he is sure she is fine. Despite her fugitive status, her face and smile make her appear unassuming to anyone she meets. She is not the type of person you would expect to be a terrorist. Jason has the feeling that if he made it this far, then Aaron is probably also on the continent. It makes him think that maybe, _maybe_ they might actually be able to pull off this outrageous scheme. His lips twitch, and for a moment Jason freezes in confusion and then he realizes that he is actually enjoying the cloak and dagger of this rescue mission. It feels easy, like a game.

And then, it is as though the universe has to prove him wrong. He is Jason Bourne after all; luck has never been on his side. Jason glances up from his Men's Health magazine in time to catch the beginning of CNN's special report on another arrest being made in connection with a string of terrorist attacks.

At first, he thinks this just another report about Marta's unfortunate sister but he could not be more wrong as Nicky Parson's picture replaces the face of the woman delivering the report. Jason's hands tighten around the magazine and he can feel his heart begin to pound flushing his system with adrenaline, noradrenaline and cortisol. Jason feels his stomach hollow out as his blood rushes to his extremities in preparation for either fight or flight.

It takes every ounce of his control to steady his breathing, but he sits there in his seat and he does not draw any undue attention to himself. The picture is an old one, taken when Nicky's hair was still long and blonde, but it is not hard to recognize her smiling face. They caught her. How? The last time he saw her, he was putting her on a bus for some not even worthy of global positioning city. How could they possibly have found her?

The worry he feels for Nicky is unwelcome so Jason replaces it with anger directed at Nicky instead. She must have slipped up, done something stupid and led them right to her. How could she be so foolish? Clearly, she brought this on herself and he cannot do anything to help her now. But those thoughts only last e few hard won seconds, because this is Nicky. Jason volleys back to being worried about her so fast that it annoys him. The tight ball in his chest, which should be his beating heart clenches as the reporter switches to a correspondent standing in front of a security gate.

In the background he can see a logo that surprises him. The NRAG, National Research Assay Group emblem on the old-style brick building should house nothing more than research studies and scientists like Marta Shearing. It shocks him to realize that the asshole in charge of this operation was laying down loaf-sized bread crumbs for Aaron to follow. Either the guy thought he was being pretty slick or he thought Aaron was mentally challenged. Jason watches as the camera pans away from the man with the microphone and provides the general layout of the property.

Nicky's picture is again taking up the entire screen and Jason misses the days when it was easy to shut off his emotions and keep his head in the game. He cannot afford to be distracted, especially not now, but all he can think about is Nicky back in the hands of Treadstone. Unlike Marta's sister, Nicky did not have a life insurance policy. She would probably not make it another twenty-four hours; that Jason knows without a doubt. She is a liability, a danger to the whole operation, especially with Pamela Landy getting ready to sing like a canary.

Layered within the news bulletin were details about the up-coming Congressional Hearings that would be televised for the viewing pleasure of the American people. It was a pretty way of giving the public a bloody and vicious feeding frenzy to watch. Pamela Landy was the wounded fish circling the waters chummed by the likes of Jason Bourne, Aaron Cross, Marta and Gemma Shearing and Nicky Parsons. They would never leave them alone and it pissed him off!

Jason gets to his feet, his body tense and feeling like a live wire. He throws the magazine into a nearby trashcan with enough force to send a few heads glancing in his direction. He ignores them. He walks away from his gate and toward the little stall selling books, candy and other assorted items. The television behind the counter is running the same report about Nicky's apprehension and Jason watches out of the corner of his eye while he pretends to read the back of a bestseller.

He learns that Nicky is currently being held in one of the NRAG branch buildings but will be transported to a maximum security facility that afternoon to await trial. Jason puts the book back on the shelf. He knows that is when they will try to take her out; most likely they will call it a botched escape attempt or an unfortunate, yet not tragic, accident. He also knows that he has to be there to make sure that doesn't happen or Nicky doesn't stand a chance.

Throughout his life, Aaron has always pretended to be someone else. When he was still Kenneth, he would make up the perfect life for himself; when he lay awake some nights he liked to imagine a life that involved a mom and a dad, that loved him and were proud, and a little sister that thought he could hang the moon. Aaron thinks he would have liked being somebody's big brother. His fantasy family always took family vacations to the beach or to the mountains to visit fantasy grandparents. Fantasy Dad taught him how to hit a baseball and Fantasy Mom always took him out for ice cream when he got A's on his tests; it was his dream so he made A's every time. He taught his Fantasy Sister to fish and he read picture books to her every night. He could not make his thoughts into a reality but he still liked to immerse himself in the fantasy. It made him smile and there was a curious tightening in his chest when he pictured that perfect family. It was only after he joined Outcome and became Aaron Cross that he realized the feeling in his chest was hope. All those nights of dreaming a perfect life gave Aaron what he would need to became well practiced in the art of being someone else.

He wore his identity like a coat that could be removed at any time and swapped out for another. It was easy to pretend to be anyone other than who he was. The common factor in all of his personas, these days, is that he is always a highly- trained government assassin, a soldier and there was no room to be anything else.

Aaron let's his mind wander as he slips into the back entrance of the Marriot where he knows, hopes and prays Marta is waiting. In spite of the fact that he declined to walk through the front door like every other guest, Aaron feels like he could be any other unassuming guest at the hotel. He could be a businessman attending a conference or trying to close a deal, a man treating his children to a tour of the Nation's Capital or even an unfaithful husband visiting his mistress. Aaron knows that anyone he passed by in the hallway would have no idea why he was really there or who he is.

Aaron takes the elevator to the third floor and finds the room he reserved under a fake name only two days before. The Internet really makes slipping through the government's net all too easy. When he finds the room number, Aaron cannot help but glance up and down the hallway, trying to sense if anything is out of the ordinary. The hallway is empty and everything appears to be as it should. He can hear the low drone of the televisions in several of the rooms but nothing that sets his body on edge.

Satisfied, Aaron knocks lightly on the door three times. Almost immediately the door flies open and there is Marta, back to being brown-eyed and brunette, waiting for him on the other side. "Did you even look out the peephole," he asks with a quirked eyebrow, but he cannot seem to find any anger at her for her lack of security. He never knew how good it would feel to have someone waiting for him. "You didn't ask me the password." Aaron chides as he enters the room, shutting and locking the door behind him. "What if I hadn't been alone?"

Marta gives him an incredulous look, "I wasn't worried about that you would never lead them right to me." She points out.

Her total trust warms him and Aaron turns to agree that he would rather die than lead the wolf to her door, but Marta is launching herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and holding onto him like she worried she would never see him again. And maybe that's exactly what she had been worried about. He can feel her trembling against him and it feels real, natural like he imagined other men felt every day. Now that he has her in his arms, Aaron feels himself start to relax. She is safe and he is safe; so, it is pretty much a happily-ever-after as far as he's concerned. Aaron presses his face against the side of her neck and allows himself a few moments of pretending to be someone else.

He pretends to be a normal man meeting a beautiful normal woman in a hotel room for more pleasurable reasons than that of a CIA trained assassin on the run from the people who made him who he is. They are not here to rescue a hostage and steal hundreds of top-secret files with the intention of publishing them to bring down countless, nefariously run black-ops organizations. He is not a man facing the possibility of his imminent death or the death of the only person who means anything to him. He is just Aaron Cross and she is just Marta Shearing and they are just—together.

Nicky Parsons has proved to be a blessing in disguise, a way to hold onto the sanity that Gemma had felt slowly slipping away from her since she was abducted from her home. Nicky understands exactly what is going on and her knowledge keeps her from being afraid. Her strength makes Gemma strong and she feels like she is becoming a new person, shedding the old weaknesses and doubts that would have allowed her to betray her baby sister. In that other woman's place is now a sincerely pissed of bitch that will do whatever it takes to keep Byer and his goons from getting their hands on her sister, even if it means resigning herself to rotting in this cell.

Gemma is not sure how much time has passed before she hears sounds drifting down the corridor once more. She and Nicky have been passing the time with stories from their lives, though Nicky's stories are far more exciting than any Gemma can share. Nicky has told her everything about Jason Bourne and how he is the one who has led them all to this moment. Gemma feels like she is listening to the last confessions of a dying woman and maybe that is really what they are doing, telling the stories of their lives while they await the executioner.

Vosen comes to stand in front of their cell, once again flanked by a trio of guards. His eyes settle on Nicky, a dangerous glint in his eyes and his voice is smug as he says, "Time to go, Miss Parsons." Nicky swallows and her eyes betray her fear. Gemma can feel her own heart start pounding in her chest and she imagines the same is happening in the dark haired woman.

"Where are you taking her," Gemma asks, her voice is shaking as she looks at Vosen.

Predictably, Vosen ignores her question and the fact that she is there at all. Nicky forces herself to meet the man's gaze. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she informs him frankly, trying to banish any sign of her fear. Gemma thinks that her act is two-fold one to keep her from becoming hysterical and she probably knows these men can smell fear a mile away.

"You really don't want us to have to come get you," Vosen tells her, "Your move."

Nicky just crosses her arms over her chest like a petulant child, pursing her lips. Vosen glares and unlocks the cell. He gestures for one of the guards to retrieve her. Gemma's mind is spinning as she watches the exchange. She knows she should not just be sitting here, she should be doing something. She should be brave, but she feels frozen in place.

The guard grabs Nicky under the elbow and roughly hauls her to her feet. Before they can take a step toward the hallway, Nicky slams her head into the bridge of the guy's nose as hard as she can. The man cries out, releasing her arm as he covers his face, blood gushing down his chin and staining his shirt. Nicky presses her hands into his wrists and shoves him toward the door using their momentum to force his already abused head into the thick metal bars before swinging the man to the right and letting him fall in a heap. The door is unlocked and she knows she will not get very far, there are still two guards and Vosen blocking her way, but she refused to let herself go quietly. Even if there are so few people to witness her last heroic moments on this planet.

Vosen grabs her by the hair and pulls her backward into the metal bars of the cell, sending a wave of pain shooting from her tailbone and up to her already throbbing head. "You always did have more balls than sense Parsons." He remarks, "It's what makes you worthless."

Nicky turns her head just enough to spit in his face, trying to wrestle out of his grip. Vosen narrows his eyes at her. "I wish I could be there to watch that fire in you go out." He growls before shoving her away from the door and giving the two remaining guards an exasperated get moving sign with his hand. This time the guard is prepared when she tries to attack and she can feel the bruises being made as they hold her in painfully tight hands.

Vosen looks at the third guard, still recovering from Nicky's assault. He glares at the man. "Let's go," he mutters, "Christ! You are supposed to be the best and you let a girl beat you."

"The best," Nicky scoffs, "He isn't the best, but he'll get to meet him soon enough!"

Vosen spares a slightly speculative look for Nicky before he locks the cell once more once the guard is standing in the hallway.

"You still think Jason Bourne will come for you," he laughed coldly. Gemma saw pain in Nicky's eyes for a brief moment before it was erased by cool indifference. She thought it was interesting that Vosen did not dispute Nicky's claim that this Jason Bourne was the best. It was oddly comforting to realize that there were people out there that these men feared. And despite his bravado Noah Vosen was scared.

"He'll come for her," Gemma retorted, completely confident that the man Nicky loved and lost would come for her like a knight in tarnished and dented armor. "He'll come for you," she assured the other woman and prayed it was true.

Nicky licked her lips and her dark brown eyes were large with fear, but she nodded her thanks to the other woman. "I'll see you again, soon," she assured Gemma.

"In hell, I suspect," Vosen laughs and spares a menacing look at Gemma. "Don't worry you'll get your turn."

Gemma stares at him, trying to keep her face from betraying how his words terrify her. She thinks of Marta, still somewhere out there, free. That thought makes her stronger and less afraid. "The only way I'll go to hell is if I take you with me," she spat and turned away from the glorified lackey.

By the time she is being led out of the building and into the bright afternoon sunshine, Nicky can barely put one foot in front of the other. Her mind is foggy and her vision is swimming. She tries to fight against the heavy blanket of lethargy stealing through her body but it is just too hard. She should have known that prick Vosen would have resorted to drugging her. What is the fun in killing someone who can actually fight back?

There is a nondescript white van waiting for her beside the curb and Nicky tries to muster the last of her sense and strength and pull away from the men escorting her toward the open doors. She knows once she gets in the back of the van that she's dead. She's as good as dead right now anyway but she wants to go down swinging. Jason would be proud of her, she thinks, if she made an effort.

Nicky managers to pull one of her arms free and she uses it to drive the air out of the man on her right by driving her elbow into his solar plexus. She tries to pull away from the other restraining hand and she nearly face plants into the sidewalk, pretty much ruling out the possibility of escape. Her head feels too heavy to keep upright and Nicky feels like her heart is about to beat right out of her chest. Maybe whatever Vosen gave her will just kill her before anyone else can do the honors.

Once Nicky is in the back of the van, the guard cuffs her hands to a ring in the floor and the doors slam shut, effectively putting an end to any thoughts of escape. She is alone aside from the driver, who does not spare her a backwards glance as he pulls away from the curb and merges into traffic. Her bleary eyes see the vehicle for what it is, a mobile coffin. She can see pavement through the floor of the van and she thinks it might make her sick as it speeds beneath her.

Nicky closes her eyes and rests her head against the cool metal of the van floor. She never really thought it would end this way but her brain won't focus long enough for her to feel much of anything about her impending death. She just hopes it is all over quickly.

Jason checks the clip on the gun he just stole from the unfortunate rent-a-cop that happened to walk by first and is satisfied to find all the bullets in place. The most recent news report he saw was showing live footage of Nicky being loaded into the back of a van, which is pretty much the worst-case scenario as far as Jason is concerned. That means he is going to have to find a way to get close enough to the van, which means he is going to have to get his hands on a motorized vehicle of some kind. Which means in addition to making sure that he does not get killed by the people in charge of eliminating Nicky, he also has to ensure he doesn't get killed by any idiotic D.C. drivers. This should be fun.

He opts for a motorbike because it will be easier to weave through traffic that way. They also seem to be very popular amongst the residents of D.C. and it doesn't take Jason long to find one parked outside a row of shops. It takes him even less time to strip the wires and connect them, firing the bike to life. He pulls away long before the bike's actual owner notices that anything is amiss.

Jason knows the van's intended route thanks to the CNN report detailing the transfer of a dangerous terrorist. He saw the footage they were showing of Nicky and she looked like anything but a dangerous terrorist; even her fumbling attempt at escape lacked the needed danger. It was strange how watching the obviously drugged woman take on two armed guards made something inside Jason come to life. She had only elbowed the guard, but to Jason it was beautiful to watch. He could tell they drugged her or at least had done something to her that probably made her forget her own name. Something they thought would keep her from fighting back in that situation. Cowards!

To any of the other countless drivers on the road, the van would not warrant a second glance, which is the desired effect. To Jason, it is like a beacon. Nothing says government operation like an unmarked white van or a nondescript black sedan with tinted windows; these people lacked originality.

Jason trails behind the van, keeping a dozen cars in between them as he considers his options. If he waits to grab Nicky when they get to wherever they are going, he risks getting in the middle of a shoot-out and broadcasting his presence in D.C. loud and clear. He figures Cross would crucify him if he blew the rescue mission; but trying to intercept the van on the road and extracting Nicky, especially in her current state, seems just as impossible. Jason shrugs a metaphoric shoulder he has always excelled at the impossible.

The van changes lanes to merge onto a bridge and Jason follows suit it seems an odd route to take, but it also appears to bypass mid-afternoon traffic. As soon as they're off the bridge and back onto the main streets, he will close the distance between them. Getting stuck in bumper to bumper traffic would be preferable but he will settle for a red light; anything that will keep the van in place.

Jason is still a dozen cars behind the van when he sees the van suddenly swerve to the left, slamming into the stone guard rail of the bridge and take a nosedive toward the water below. "Son of bitch," he curses through gritted teeth, twisting the throttle on the bike and swerving around the cars that were previously providing him with cover. The cars that were behind the van are all stopping and doors are opening making his path more treacherous.

People are flooding the road almost as quickly as the water is pouring into the van and it is a sickening display of human nature; they are unable to resist bearing witness to whatever tragedy is unfolding before them. Jason ignores their shouts of surprise as he breezes by, heading for the spot where the van went over. He does not bother to slow down as he sends the bike over the edge of the bridge and plummeting into the water.

Jason surfaces easily, blinking water out of his eyes. Several feet away from him, a man he assumes is the driver of the van has also surfaced and is the process of making a beeline for the shore. He looks shocked to see Jason and his surprise only increases when he recognizes the face of the man. Jason dives underwater as if he is heading for the van and then crosses the distance between the driver and himself easily, grabbing the man and dragging him under. While the man is flailing about as any drowning man will Jason delivers a solid punch to his windpipe before dragging him deeper under water. The last thing he wants is for this lackey to return to home-base with the news that Jason Bourne is back in the United States or for the rubber-necks up on the bridge to realize he just killed a man in front of them. Jason does not want to give them that much of a thrill.

Once the man is no longer a threat, Jason resurfaces and glances around as if searching for the other man and then he dives under the water again, trying to spot the van in the murky water. The vehicle is sinking slowly, but not nearly as slow as it should be. It was obvious that they prepared the van for this and with Nicky drugged and most likely restrained she would drown if he could not reach her quickly.

It would be the first impulse of most to try and pry the back doors open but the water pressure on the flat panels make opening them impossible. Instead, Jason circles the vehicle and enters through the place where the windscreen should have been and there is Nicky. She is cuffed to the floor and though the van is completely submerged there is a large bubble of air trapped in the cargo area. For a minute, one heart stopping-ly painful, he thinks she is already dead. It would be just his luck.

But when he reaches for her, pulling her toward him, Nicky stirs and her eyes flutter open. She murmurs something that might be his name before her eyes close again. There is not much time because the van is filling faster now the deeper they drift. They don't have time for him to pick the lock on the handcuffs because the water will be over her head soon. Using the gun he took off the rent-a-cop Jason shields Nicky and places the muzzle against the links of the cuffs and fires freeing her.

There is bound to be a thousand and one people and probably rescue workers on scene by now and Jason knows that getting them out of here unnoticed is going to be major trouble. "Take a breath," he orders her and she opens blurry eyes again but does not seem to register what he is saying. Shaking her he commands again, "Damn it, Nick, take a breath and hold it!"

Her old nickname slipping off of his lips rouses her and she does as she is told. Jason takes three quick breathes and releases them before taking a larger breath. Cradling Nicky with her back to his chest Jason hooks one arm around her shoulders to keep her close as he starts swimming for the surface and uses one hand to cover her mouth and hold her nose. He cannot take the chance that she might panic and drown while he gets them to the other side of the bridge. His lungs are burning by the time he makes it to the far side of the bridge and he can only hope there is no one on that bridge expecting them to surface this far upstream.

Breaking the surface of the water, Jason glances around quickly, ensuring that there are gunmen waiting to start shooting at them from any vantage point. Releasing Nicky's nose and mouth she gasps raggedly, but does not struggle as her head lolls to the side on his shoulder and her eyes search his features hopefully. Towing her to shore takes longer than Jason would like but she helps by kicking unevenly with him. It is nothing to find a car abandoned near the water's edge, everyone that stopped probably left their keys in the car. As quickly and covertly as he can Jason pushes Nicky into the front seat and fastens the seat belt. Soon they are on the road and headed back toward the direction they had come. Turning on the radio Jason is shocked to hear his name and the word hero being connected to it by a live phone interview at the scene of the accident. Evidently, more than one 'concerned' citizen had already YouTubed the rescue attempt.

Jason has the feeling this isn't the quiet as under the radar entrance Aaron had in mind.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ten**

"Should we be worried?"

"No." he glances back over his shoulder and shakes his head with that half smile, of his, that he uses when he wants to reassure her but she doesn't look anymore reassured. Her eyes speak for her and he can read her thoughts as she takes in the tension in his shoulders. Aaron sighs and turns back to the window, intently watching the crowds and cars down below. His eyes are assessing and studying. Everything is a potential threat and he finds himself tracking a family leaving the hotel for a day of sightseeing and Aaron is suddenly aware of how tired he is of living his life like this.

Marta gets off the bed, tossing the remote onto the mattress and leaving CNN to play on in the background. She slips her arms around his waist, holding him from behind. "I'm sure there were delays in the airport." She points out, "That happens all the time." Aaron makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat and his left hand comes to rest over hers, the strong fingers reassuring as they stroke along hers.

Marta thinks that this, her relationship with Aaron, is the most intimate involvement she has ever been a part of. It is strange to feel that way because they have been too banged up or running to fast to move into a completely physical relationship. What she feels, it is far deeper than any feeling inspired by any of her former boyfriends.

"He just has a spectacular knack for trouble," Aaron murmurs.

"Don't you think we would have heard by now if a wanted fugitive had been apprehended?" Looking out for news on Jason is the primary reason they have had CNN on for the past two hours. There was no better news program if you wanted to get the most biased and government-slanted information. It was the perfect station for those unwilling to think for them-selves and Byer was one lucky bastard for having CNN on speed dial. Byer could be the antichrist and the plebes at CNN would be able to put a positive PR spin on it for him. CNN was a double-edged sword it was useful only so far as it let them know what was being said about them so they could counter the _enemy's _every move.

He turns to face Marta and lets the curtain fall to cover the window. "Yeah, you're right." But he is not entirely put at ease and he can tell she knows this.

"He'll show," Marta assures him. "He knows how to keep a low profile." Aaron gives her a look, arching his eyebrows and the face she makes as she qualifies that statement is endearing. "Well…hopefully in this situation he'll use decorum."

They separate and Marta goes to sit on the edge of the bed while Aaron grabs a bottle of water from the mini-bar; he drinks the whole bottle in one go and then looks at the table still covered in the assorted goodies from the complimentary breakfast bar downstairs. Aaron finds it strange that his is the least televised of the pictures being bandied about the airwaves. He wonders if there is some ulterior motive to making an innocent scientist into Atilla the Hun and leaving the unsuspecting public unaware of the trained assassin walking among them. Shaking that thought away he picks up an apple and takes a bite as he watches Marta. Her eyes are glued to the screen as if the continuously repeated news stories will change and she will miss something life-altering.

The lack of news coverage on her sister's arrest is starting to wear on her and he can see the pressure creating cracks in her calm façade. "It's like the whole world has just forgotten about Gemma," she murmurs, "The whole world thinks Gemma is a terrorist."

"I'll," he stops when her tear filled eyes met his and then says confidently, "We," he stressed the word; "We will get your sister back and make sure the world knows the truth."

"The public seems content to trust that they're being given the whole truth and nothing but the truth." She says raising her voice as she gestures at the screen. "I can't believe I used to be one of them. I almost wish I was as ignorant, again, as the rest of the world and then I could just let the news media draw my conclusions for me."

Aaron sighs, putting the apple down and going to sit beside her. "You don't have the blinders on any longer, Doc, and I know that it is hard to deal with the things that have happened. Believe me, Outcome was my life. Sad as that sounds it was like my home and it may have been dysfunctional but it was what I had. I, for one, am glad the blinders are off because wearing them could get us killed."

The report on TV moves from an uplifting piece about a new wheelchair for a two-legged dog into a story about Pamela Landy and Blackbriar. "Congressional hearings involving serious allegations against the government's defense programs are scheduled to begin in just three days." As the newscaster reads off the story, the footage on the screen shows Pamela Landy walking down the steps of a massive courthouse, trying to ignore the reporters competing for her attention. "The primary witness in these hearings is Pamela Landy, who claims she is a former employee of one of the programs allegedly worked for the same department that is currently being connected to this man: Jason Bourne." Bourne's familiar photo replaces footage of Landy. "Landy is prepared to bring classified government files and information into trial, though no witnesses have stepped forward to help corroborate her story."

Marta turns to look at Aaron, and she sighs, "I feel bad for her. She's trying to do the right thing and they're going to destroy her."

"She should just be happy they haven't killed her yet." Aaron remarks. He appreciates Marta's sympathy but she needs to be more worried about her own safety at the moment.

The reporter is in the middle of a sentence about how the defense plans to tear down Landy's story when the news channel's logo flashes onto the screen with an addendum that a Special Report is on the way. The logo fades into a shot of two news anchors that Aaron recognizes from the local station WUSA9.

"We've been getting reports over the last several minutes of an accident on the 11th Street Bridge." One of the anchors says without preamble. "Eye-witness reports came in minutes ago after the drivers saw a white van similar to the van used to transport this woman, Nicky Parson's from the National Research and Assay Group's storage facility to a federal containment facility. It is unclear what caused the vehicle to collide with the guard rail and go over the side of the bridge."

The camera shifts, and another reporter takes up the story. "Witnesses _then_ report a motorcycle being driven over the rail and plunging into the river, intentionally. Mary Stearns is on site with more information." The man shuffles the papers in front of him as he smoothly hands the story over to the reporter on the scene, "Mary."

There's a beat of uncomfortable silence as the picture on the television transfers to the live feed of the gopher-reporter, Mary Stearns looks like she's having a hard time maintaining her pose while keeping her hair from blowing in her face.

"Thanks, Stan, word that two vehicles had gone over the side of the 11th Street Bridge has been confirmed. When we arrived on the scene rescue workers were searching the water for any sign of the driver of the van who witnesses say surfaced moments after the van sank beneath the surface. They report that the man struggled to keep his head above water but ultimately went under again but did not resurface. The chances of him surviving are not good according to one of the firemen I spoke with," Stearns says, gesturing over her shoulder toward the scene unfolding behind her. There are police cars on the scene, parked haphazardly among the other vehicles that are stopped on the bridge. The officers are trying to maintain some sort of order, though it is hard, wrangling the onlookers and their cell phones.

The reporter continues. "A man deliberately drove his motorcycle over the edge of the bridge and was able to save one of the passengers in the van. Onlookers were able to capture footage of the daring rescue on cell phones and digital cameras."

Predictably, the shot switches to a grainy, shaky video that was clearly taken with someone's cell. But the image is still good enough to see the 'daring rescue' unfolding in the water. And the face of the man actually performing these heroic feats is unfortunately all too easy to make out. Aaron's nostrils flare and he stands up and moves to stand in front of the window with clenched fists. Aaron bites out a few words that are not suited for Sunday school as the reporter continues.

"The man seen in this video has been identified as Jason Bourne," the reporter continues, "a man currently wanted by the United States government for being involved in several terrorist plots over the past few years." The video freezes on Jason's face and the screen splits, putting that image next to the stock photo of Jason. "Bourne was previously believed to be dead after being shot and falling from an eleven story building. This amateur footage seems to disprove those earlier reports."

The report ends and CNN resumes but neither Marta nor Aaron is paying attention to the TV.

"This is bad." Aaron says finally after several moments of silence. There is no point in denying the truth.

"Well…at least we know where Jason is," Marta remarks, trying to lighten Aaron's mood. The look he gives her over his shoulder makes it evident that he is not in a very humorous mood at the moment.

"That idiot," Aaron seems to be talking to himself so Marta doesn't say anything. "What was he thinking? He might as well just turn us all in and save Byer the time."

Aaron begins to pace around the room to trying and channel some of the anger he is feeling into the floor with each strident step. His fists are clenched when he comes to the wall beside the door and he presses them painfully into the painted surface. He thinks that if Jason was here he might finish what he started in Bangladesh. "The one advantage we had," he mutters pressing his forehead into his fists. "We made it all the way from fucking Bangladesh without them knowing and he blows it within an hour of stepping foot of his damned plane."

Marta moves behind him and he can almost feel her hesitation; he must be frightening her. "The report said the police couldn't find him," She points out helpfully.

"Yet," he mutters, turning to face her with his arms tightly crossed over his chest. "They haven't found him yet." Aaron makes an effort to calm his nerves. Closing his eyes he leans his head back into the wall and lets his arms uncross and fall to his sides. "Every person in this city is going to be looking for him, trying to play civilian police officer and catch a wanted terrorist." His mind is a torrent of thoughts and activity. He tries to understand what makes Jason Bourne tick but he just can't see past the fact that the man is constantly rubbing it in everyone's face that he is here and they can't catch him. "What was that about him keeping a low profile," Aaron questions, arching an eyebrow.

Marta chooses not to respond to that obviously rhetorical question but she does make a move toward him. The small step awakens something in Aaron and he straightens from the wall and catches her at the nape of her neck pulling her to him. He doesn't wait to see if she will accept him before he is kissing her deeply. They are in danger and he wants a taste of her before they have to run again.

She clings to him and Aaron hikes her thigh over his left hip and turns them pressing her into the wall beside the door. He is hard, unyielding and he revels in the softness of her feminine form for a few precious minutes before his more rational and less primal side reasserts its self. Aaron gentles the fierce kiss until his lips are little more than a brush against hers and eases them away until he can look into her passion filled eyes. "We have to go," Aaron murmurs softly. His fingers caress her knee and thigh before sliding to her hip letting her leg slide the length of his thigh until she is standing on her own two feet. Closing his eyes for a moment, strengthening his resolve, Aaron takes a deep breath and steps away from Marta. "We can't stay here." Aaron leans down gathering up Marta's bag.

Marta just stares at him with searching dark eyes and he wonders what kinds of thoughts go on behind her eyes. She takes a steadying breath and lays her hand over his, using her other hand to pull the bag out of his grasp. "He knows better than to come here right away." She points out. "He might be reckless but I don't think he would put us in danger on purpose."

"We don't know that," Aaron growls and if Marta is startled by his outburst, she doesn't show it. "The only thing we know is that he is reckless and he only ever thinks about himself. I should never have trusted him."

Marta does not say anything but he can see that she is processing his words and probably placing the blame for this situation on her own shoulders. His words though aimed at himself have struck her.

"Marta," he sighs and sits down onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumping.

"It was my idea," she cuts in before Aaron can say anything other than her name, "Using him to rescue Gemma instead of just treating him like any threat and eliminating him."

"No," Aaron shakes his head and reaches his hand out to her, pulling her onto his lap. "It was a good idea and I made the call; this isn't your fault."

Aaron leaves it unspoken that the fault lies with him. He made the call and if Jason Bourne leads a pack of hungry wolves to Marta's door Aaron will take a great deal of pleasure in ending his selfish existence as painfully and slowly as is humanly possible.

Marta wraps her arm around his shoulders and leans her forehead into his temple, "He won't come back here," she says with conviction in her voice. "Not until he knows it's safe."

"Why would he do it," Aaron questions, shaking his head. "He risked exposing himself and us just to play hero? I don't understand."

Marta doesn't quite understand either, but she feels like there has to be more to the story that the news isn't sharing or isn't privy to. "Maybe he felt like he didn't have a choice."

* * *

Nicky wakes feeling muzzy-headed to find herself in the backseat of an unfamiliar car. She quickly bolts up right, her body tense, only to slump drunkenly back onto the leather upholstery. Her memory though foggy of being back in the hands of Vosen and the men who have been charged with killing her seems out of sync with this new position. She remembers a white van and being cuffed to the ring in the floor. Obviously, she is no longer in the back of the van that she has hazy memories of filling with water; waiting for death. She thinks it will be a miracle if she ever sets foot in anything deeper than a bathtub after this.

The sun has gone down and the only light around comes from the orange glow of nearby streetlights. Through the window in front of her she can see what looks like a large parking lot, with only a few cars parked sporadically in the spots. There is a large stone building several yards away, lit up with fluorescents. All of those factors only serve to further confuse Nicky. Maybe she is dead and stuck in some kind of purgatory that resembles a rest stop?

Nicky giggles and she knows then that she is still high as the proverbial kite. Whatever drug Vosen gave her is potent. She closes her eyes and tries to rack her beleaguered memory for any clues as to what could have led to this moment. She doesn't remember seeing any bright lights or ghostly figures but she does remember seeing, "Jason," her voice is rough and her throat aches with the utterance. She had hoped he would come for her, in that deeply coveted spot in her heart where her love for Jason Bourne resides. Maybe, she did die after all and her spirit conjured up his face as a last comfort. But his touch felt so real and she can still hear the sound of his voice in her head. He had called her Nick, the way he always had when they were alone, it was an endearment and a command as the water flowed around them.

The driver's side door to the car opens suddenly and a man slips behind the wheel and it takes all of her willpower not to squeak in fright. He turns to face her and Nicky finds herself face to face with Jason Bourne and her chest throbs with the need to soak in every line of his face. Jason does not speak and Nicky is afraid that if she does he will disappear, just a figment of her dying imagination. But the blankness of his features negate the dream theory because if she were dreaming he would be holding her close and taking the pain of the last four years away. They just watch each other for a beat before Nicky says, "So—Not dead?"

"It would seem." Jason replies with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips and Nicky cannot breathe. He looks almost like her Jason then, but the softening of his face is quickly replaced by the empty slate she hates so much. "You almost drowned," he adds most-likely for lack of anything else to say.

Nicky nods thoughtfully, "Yeah, I'm starting to remember that part." She wants to reach out to touch his shoulder or take his hand but this is the new Jason Bourne and he doesn't seem to respond to human touch the way her Jason used to. "How…how did you know where I was? How…I thought you would have left the country."

"I did," Jason tells her, "It's…kind of a long story." Nicky looks at him expectantly and Jason glances away into the distance before letting his eyes fall back to hers. Slowly, he begins to tell her about going to Manila and mistakenly assuming that Aaron Cross was there to kill him. His voice is steady, concise the way it always had been during a debrief as he tells her about tracking the man, Aaron Cross, and Marta Shearing to Vietnam and then Bangladesh, where Cross got the drop on him.

Nicky is surprised to hear that anyone got the drop on Jason. He was the better of the first gen assets and you had to get up pretty damned early to get one over on Jason Bourne. He tells her about Aaron and Marta's insane plan to rescue Marta's sister and how he ended up here in D.C. all over again. Jason tries to play it off as though he does not care but there is a deep thread of compassion in his soul that only Nicky had ever seen. It had been stuffed down beneath the training, but she had known him before the doctors and military pricks. Jason did not seem to remember that though.

Nicky listens without interrupting, as he tells her about seeing the news and following the van, trying to make sense of the crazy way that the world worked. She has always been a big believer of everything happening for a reason but now she feels like she has irrefutable evidence of that. If Jason had not been held hostage (for lack of a better word) by Aaron then he never would have been in the position to save her life, yet again. Plus, there is the whole matter of Gemma. "I know them," she murmurs.

Jason gives her a confused look so she clarifies, "Marta Shearing and her sister, Gemma. I shared a cell with Gemma before," she flapped her hand indicating her damp clothes.

"She's not dead," Jason muses, "I thought they might just kill her anyway. That's a little disappointing." Nicky could only gape at him. "This is a suicide mission, Nicky. Even you have to recognize that. Finding out the sister is already dead would have been enough to convince them to give up."

Nicky continues to glare at him with an arched brow. "A suicide mission," she repeats, "You followed a van into a dirty, disgusting river on a motorcycle; do you think you are qualified to call someone else's rescue plan suicidal?" She arches an eyebrow. "Jason, you know as well as I do if there isn't a chance that you're going to die you're not interested. Even when we were kids you always had to—"

Jason scoffs silencing her, "That's not true. You make me sound completely reckless."

Nicky rolls her eyes. "You are reckless," She points out, "But that's what's kept you alive this long. It's what's kept me alive. And it is what's going to help save Gemma and bring these bastards down once and for all."

Jason does not meet her eyes and she wonders if it is because she mentioned their history together. She had not meant to, but he just seemed for a small space of time like her Jason, the one that took care of her when her father had too much to drink and she would climb through his bedroom window. She was younger than Jason by five years and things between them had always been difficult because she tended to see Jason as her hero and he was just a boy and then a man. She found it amazing that Treadstone never discovered the link between Jason and herself. She figures they never really looked past high school for connections or they would have found out that the two of them were neighbors on base in Port Hueneme.

It was another twist of fate that brought them both to the program. It had been hard, but neither one of them let anything slip about knowing each other. The night she awoke to find Jason in her room standing over her bed was still etched in her mind; that night changed everything.

"I survive because I have instincts and training," he mutters and his eyes flash to hers and she can see remembrance in them. Her heart stops for a moment, but then he is speaking again and his eyes close off as they turn to stare out into the dark night. "I didn't save you because I was being reckless."

"Then why did you save me?" Nicky questions, her eyes searching his face. She needs him to say it, say he remembers and make it alright for her to love him.

Jason doesn't answer; instead, he turns around so she can't see his face and watches out the windshield. "You should get some rest," he murmurs and her heart breaks a little more. He was rejecting her and she shouldn't have any heart left to break, but is seems Jason will always be able to shatter her. "We'll meet up with the others tomorrow."

Nicky purses her lips but doesn't say anything. She knows Jason's behavior shouldn't surprise her but it does anyway. Maybe not surprise so much as hurt. Every time she feels like she's finally cracking through his exterior and finding a way to connect them together once again, he shuts down and the walls go back up. Why _did_ he save her? Was it obligation…Impulse…Or something more?

Nicky shivers in her damp clothes as she tries to make herself comfortable in the back of the car. Jason is silent and still in the front seat but she knows he will not be sleeping anytime soon, if at all. She has the feeling he will be awake all night, keeping watch. Keeping her safe; just like old times, whether he wants to admit it or not.


	11. Chapter 11

ELEVEN

Marta awakes the following morning to the sounds of the shower running and the TV on with the volume so low she cannot make out anything being said. She rolls over to face the empty mattress beside her, wishing that she had woken up the same way she had fallen asleep: with Aaron's body curled around hers from behind. It's quickly becoming her favorite way to sleep.

Since there is no point in delaying the inevitable, Marta gets out of bed and pours herself a cup of coffee from the pot that Aaron started before hopping in the shower. She turns the volume up and watches CNN for a few minutes, only half-paying attention to the reports. Jason Bourne is still missing finding the fugitive was top priority. There was still war in the Middle East and genocide in Africa and celebrities were still going to rehab. Basically, everything was bad news and a sad sort of status quo. Marta turns her head in the direction of the bathroom when she hears the water shut off.

Moments later, the door opens and a rush of steam and damp air ushers Aaron into the room. Marta's eyes skim over his damp chest and down to the towel around his waist. Licking her lips Marta swallows and forces her eyes upward to actually study his face. His eyes are troubled and there are dark thumbprint sized bruises beneath his eyes. Marta's brow knits in concern and she cannot seem to keep the doctor out of her voice as she says, "You look exhausted. Did you sleep?"

Aaron shakes his head as he admits, "I was keeping watch."

She knows he is worried about Jason leading the wolf pack right to their door and he would forego sleep as long as possible without putting them at risk. He'd done it before, she knew that but now it was different. "Aaron," she murmured, cupping his still stubble coarse cheek.

"Consider it a training exercise, Doc." He nipped at her thumb when she stroked it over his beautiful lips.

"You should have woken me," Marta chides, handing him her half-drunk mug of coffee. "I could have kept you company." She gives him a coy grin and lets her fingers scratch his whiskers.

"One of us deserved to get some rest." Aaron takes the mug gratefully and drinks almost purring as she pets his cheek.

"I wish we had a lab," she murmurs with a frown and she explains when she feels him stiffen. "We never had the chance to check your body's reactions to the last viral-dose. When you were taken off greens there were some inconsistencies in your blood work. Six—," Marta closed her eyes and let her hand fall from Aaron's face as she realized that the man known as Six was most likely dead and she could not even use his name as a small remembrance. Sighing and pushing the guilt away she continued. "Six experienced some renal issues when he was viriled-off greens."

"You think I might have problems, Doc?" He watches as her eyes go to the cup in his hand and then she meets his gaze again.

"No, you seem fine, but if you start mainlining caffeine it might put a strain on your body." Marta steps closer to him, slipping her arms around his waist, careful not to dislodge the towel. Though, if that _did_ happen, she would be the last one to complain. "Just promise me you will try to rest after you shave."

"Shave," he laughs, "Is that a hint?"

"Yes," she says, tilting her head as she brings her lips close to his. "I don't mind the goatee, but you are starting to look like Grizzly Adams."

"Oh, love the man not his beard is that it?" He asks her playfully as he puts the cup on the night stand and works his hands beneath her shirt. Sliding his hands along her spine pulling her closer and burying his bearded cheeks in her neck making her shriek at the ticklish sensation.

"Stop," she pants, and he smiles against skin before licking at her throat and planting a tiny kiss on her pulse. "Oh, god, it definitely has to go now." She shivers and contemplates hooking her fingers into his towel and letting it fall, fuzzy cheeks be-damned. The way his lips and teeth are creating such wonderful bolts of electricity skitter down her spine. "You are lethal."

Marta gasps as one of Aaron's hands slips around her side and finds her unrestrained breast at the same moment his mouth moves swiftly to take hers. He tastes like coffee and toothpaste and incredible male and she wants more. Marta places her hands on his chest and lets them skim over his hard muscles. She smiles when his stomach muscles quiver at her touch. As soon as she wraps her fingers in the damp terry cloth towel and starts to loosen it Aaron catches her hands and moves them back to rest safely on his chest.

"Not, yet," he murmurs as he eases his lips from hers and meets her eyes.

"You don't have to coddle me," she sighs and presses her face into his chest. "You know that right?"

She can feel Aaron's lips quirk upward in a smile, brushing against her hair. "Maybe I like coddling you." He tightens his hold on her and whispers in her ear.

"I'm not that fragile," Marta points out. She wants him to kiss her now, but his lips still feel too far away. "I'm not going to break. I can take it."

Aaron gives her a wolfish grin. "I know, Doc." Somehow, Marta thinks those words sound like a promise.

"Then why," she asks tilting her head so that they are once again looking into each other's eyes.

Their lips meet and it is gentle and soft but it is not enough. Marta wants more, she wants the hunger and the passion and the ferocity she sees in Aaron's eyes every day. She wants him to take her and touch her like he isn't worried he is going to damage her. The way that she knows he wanted to do when she was just his doctor and he was just a number. She wants him to make her forget everything, even Gemma. She doesn't want to think at all; Aaron can give her that.

Marta can feel Aaron's body tense under her hands and she thinks maybe she pushed him too far, but when she looks into his eyes she can see the man being replaced by the solider. He pulls away from her abruptly, his eyes flashing, turning his head toward the door. "There's someone outside."

"It could be housekeeping," Marta points out.

Aaron already feels too far away and a small part of her is annoyed that she keeps shoving her fantasies on to the backburner. But she knows that Aaron wouldn't get worked up over housekeeping. She has learned that if he senses danger, it is usually a good idea to duck and cover.

Aaron is stepping away from her, grabbing his discarded clothes off the floor and quickly pulling on his jeans. He doesn't bother with his boxers and that alone gives Marta another fantasy to add to the roiling pot that is already boiling on the eye after those wonderful kisses.

"Here," he murmurs in quiet command, without glancing in her direction, as he hands her the .38 and then turns her to face the bathroom. "Get into the bathroom and hide."

His eyes are busy scanning the room for potential weapons and Marta starts to turn around and protest but he snaps, "Now!" and she quickly does as she was told.

Marta closes the door behind her as quietly as she can and steps into the still wet shower for lack of a better place to hide. She pulls the curtain around herself and holds her breath, trying to listen for sounds coming from outside the room. She hears the door bang open against the wall and the mumble of a man's voice. She recognizes Jason's voice and exhales the breath she was holding in. Marta slips out of the tub and opens the bathroom door in time to see Aaron grab Jason and slam him against the wall, his forearm pressed against the other man's throat.

"Son of a bitch," Aaron growls, his face centimeters away from Jason's, "Are you completely incapable of doing anything under the radar? You are going to get us all killed."

Jason tries to push Aaron back just enough to give himself some breathing room but Aaron's channeling his inner Pit-bull and doesn't seem inclined to let up. "I'm clean," Jason manages to grunt around his windpipe being smashed, "They have no idea…where I am."

"They should have no idea you are anywhere near here," Aaron reminds him, "But there is fucking eyewitness video confirming you are alive and well and vacationing in D.C." Aaron continues to stare at the man, who meets his gaze head-on.

Finally, Aaron steps back, taking his hands off Jason, who draws in a deep breath and tries to look like being choked in a hotel room is old hat for him. Which, it is sad to say it just might be.

"I know what I am doing," Jason adds, "We weren't followed…We are safe."

"For now," Aaron snaps, glancing at the dark haired woman leaning against the wall a few feet away and Marta is surprised that she did not notice her before. "But now everyone and their fucking grandmother know we are here. You might as well text them the address."

"Everyone knows _I'm_ here," Jason replies, "If the boys in blue manage to connect me to you from two minutes of cell phone footage then I might actually be impressed." Jason points out.

Aaron narrows his eyes. "It doesn't matter whether they know if we are working together or not. They know you're here and that means increased security and people who are actually going to be interested in doing their jobs for once." He shakes his head. "How could you be so reckless? How am I supposed to trust you when you pull shit like this?"

"I never asked you to trust me." Jason points out. "You made that decision all on your own. I'm just along for the ride."

"I can still shoot you." Aaron says evenly.

Jason arches an eyebrow. "Sounds like a threat," he flicks his eyes toward Marta. "Don't forget what happens if—," and Aaron doesn't bother to wait for him to complete his threat before he has his weapon trained on the wide-eyed woman to their left but his eyes never leave Jason's.

"I wonder," he murmured coldly, and Marta has never heard him sound so cold before. "How far you'll go to keep her safe?" Jason's eyes flick toward Marta, still standing in the bathroom doorway. Almost lightning fast Jason has his sidearm out and aimed.

"As far as I have to," Jason affirmed. Marta had heard of the term stand-off before but she had never really seen it demonstrated; both men were staring each other down and their weapons were unwavering. She wanted to stop this foolishness, but she was afraid if she spoke something terrible would happen.

The woman on the other end of Aaron's weapon did not have the same compunction. She sighed heavily and muttered, "Jason," her eyes soulful as she let them leave the man holding her at gun point. "You need to put the gun down."

"Nick," he growled.

"Please," she murmured, gently commanding.

The tension once broken released Marta from its grip and she was able to speak too, "Aaron."

"No, Doc," he growled. "He keeps threatening you…Not me…You!"

"And you have your gun pointed at an innocent woman's head," she whispered, and she watched as her arrow struck to the heart of him. His gun arm wobbled and his eyes left Jason and found hers. Every line in his face spoke of his fear of this situation but Marta knew he was trying hard to fight trusting the man against the wall. It was a relief to her when both men visibly relaxed, almost as one and the guns were lowered, not holstered, but they were no longer in play.

"I have half a mind to call up Eric Byer and tell him exactly where you are," Aaron muttered when he looked at Jason this time.

Jason shrugged, "That would fit in with the rest of your suicidal schemes."

"Enough," Both Marta and the woman say at once interrupting before Aaron can form retort or punch Jason in the face.

"This is helping us how," the new woman asks.

"It doesn't," Marta answers, "Them knowing Jason Bourne is in town is just something else we'll have to work around. But we'll figure it out, we always do." Marta steps into the room and crosses to the woman standing with her back against the door; she looks exhausted and wane, her clothes and hair rumpled. She seems to only have eyes for Jason Bourne, but when she notices Marta she lifts her hand in a half-hearted wave. "I'm Nicky Parsons." She tries to force a smile on her face but doesn't have the energy.

Marta looks at the woman, her brow knitting slightly, "Nicky," She repeats, trying to remember why that name is tickling her memory and her eyes move to Jason and she remembers. "Oh." His brief comment in the hotel room back in Bangladesh, the quick moment when he let his armor slip, "You know her."

Jason frowns, as though he doesn't like the fact that his secret has been discovered. He glances over to find Aaron watching him closely and he looks away before the man can get a read on him. "Yes, I know her. We were part of Treadstone together."

Marta sees something flicker across Nicky's face and she knows that there's more to the story than that. Not that that's surprising. She's starting to get the feeling that that's always the case.

Jason and Nicky left shortly after, seeking the refuge of the hotel room booked under yet another fake name and intended for Jason. If he has any feelings about sharing it, he has not let them slip. The room is on the floor just above theirs; even though the idea of both of them being in the same hotel was not ideal for either Aaron or Jason, they agreed it was the best choice. They need to be able to plan and stay in touch at all times. Besides, they aren't planning on staying long.

With Jason and Nicky gone, Aaron starts to relax but Marta can tell that he is still upset. She hopes that he and Jason will be able to put it all behind them when Jason returns within the hour to get started on the espionage portion of the day's program.

"It's okay." Marta assures him. She sits next to him on the bed and rests her head on his shoulder. "We'll be okay."

Aaron sighs and shakes his head slightly. He takes her hand and slips their fingers together. "He is a loose cannon. I'm not sure trusting him is a good idea." Actually, he _knows_ it's not a good idea.

Marta is silent for a moment pondering the look on Nicky's face and the vibes she felt from the pair. Granted she was the last person to claim any special people reading skills, but she was starting to come out of her science induced shell and actually take in the people around her. "If I were in danger, you would do whatever it took to keep me safe, wouldn't you?"

Aaron gives her a look that says she has offended him and she remembers the way he coolly and calculatingly aimed his handgun on a woman because Jason uttered a verbal threat. She gently cups Aaron's still unshaven cheek and murmurs, "I think he was just doing the same thing."

"I don't think Jason Bourne knows what human emotion is," Aaron argues. "I think they fixed that when he went into the program."

Marta gives him a faint glare and a soft smile, "There's always an exception," she points out.

Aaron smiles at her but she can tell he is still not convinced. As long as they can all work together to achieve their goals, namely saving her sister, Marta doesn't care whether Aaron trusts Jason or not. Just as long as he waits to shoot him until after they have Gemma.

Aaron kisses her softly. "You're my exception." He says against her lips.

"I know." Marta kisses him again thinking even if she knows it is still nice to hear him admit his feelings. Letting her fingers tangle in beard on his face she nips his lower lip and murmurs, "Now go shave." Her order is playful and he kisses her again before rubbing his whiskers along her neck once more for good measure, making her laugh.

She watches him enter the bathroom and all she can think as she watches him lather his face is that he has the most amazing eyes when he smiles.

* * *

"You should try and rest," Jason says without preamble as he and Nicky step into their hotel room, "your body is probably still exhausted from the trauma of yesterday." He doesn't look at her while he talks, just goes through the routines of investigating the room and ensuring that nothing is amiss.

Nicky watches him as he moves around her. "Don't you think I should talk to Dr. Shearing about her sister? Don't you think that's information she would like to have," She arches an eyebrow when Jason glances over his shoulder at her. "Just a crazy thought."

Jason seems to think about her words and see her logic. "I'll send her up when I go back to their room. You two can talk while Aaron and I —"

"Do manly things and talk about killing and spying." Nicky interrupts and Jason rolls his eyes. "While us women sit around and gossip? Do you think Dr. Shearing would let me paint her nails too?"

Shaking his head, Jason scoffs softly. "I'm not trying to imply anything, Nicky." He opens the mini-bar and pulls out two bottles of water. He hands one to Nicky and opens the other for himself. "You just need to rest. You were held hostage in a government facility, drugged and almost drowned. I think you've earned it."

"So, why are you suddenly concerned with my well-being," Nicky questions. She is watching him closely as he drinks. He has a tell. No one else would be able to see it. In fact, she knew that even the most diligent watcher, working for the Treadstone program, would have missed Jason's tell. She can still remember the night she discovered his most telling behavior. His father was being transferred and they would be leaving in a few short months. Nicky had been heart broken. They had been nearly inseparable for the last three years and she could not even imagine not seeing him again.

"_David," she whispered as she slid off the window sill and onto the cool linoleum floor. "You awake?"_

"_Yes," he murmured studying the model plains hanging from his bedroom ceiling._

"_I heard your momma talking to mine," she tells him plainly as she settles at the foot of his bed. "She said you were moving, come January."_

"_That's right," she counted the seconds waiting for him to say something else. Reaching one hundred with not another word made her sigh._

"_Will you write," she asked, tears already dripping from her eyes._

"_Of course I will," he scoffed as if it was a stupid question but he would not look at her. It was plain as day. He had not looked at her, not once, since she climbed through his window. At first glance he did not care, but Nicky knew better in her heart of hearts. He cared, but he was turning fifteen his father had told him often enough that real men don't cry. He couldn't show it but she could._

"_Oh, Davie," she cried, softly and launched herself onto the bed at his side. He wrapped his arms around her and held her all night, but he never once looked at her._

Jason lowers his water bottle and stares at it considering her questions for a beat before shrugging. "You know Treadstone and Blackbriar you are useful."

"Well, that's a relief." She murmurs as she opens her bottle of water and takes a small sip. "I thought you might actually care whether I lived or died or something." Nicky teases with a forced smile. She doesn't know why she still does this to herself, why she keeps letting herself think that there might still be something there between them, like he's just going to remember her and their history like flicking on a light switch. Being around Jason is far more exhausting than being held hostage and nearly killed.

Jason glances at her and gives her a familiar half smile. She can hear that it is that boy from Port Hueneme that mutters, "Oh, that's not it at all." Nicky presses her hand to her heart as the boy peeks out of the man's eyes and she knows in that instant that Jason Bourne knows David Webb, but he won't let it show.

Jason heads to the door, obviously satisfied that they have a temporary sanctuary in the hotel room, assuring Nicky that he will send Marta up so they can paint each other's nails. Nicky thinks about playfully shoving his shoulder after that jibe but she keeps her hands to herself.

The sooner he gets this tactical meeting with Aaron out the way, the sooner he can relax. Well, as much as he possibly can relax. Aaron doesn't exactly bring out the best in her childhood friend and former lover and unlike when they were children Jason does not play well with others.

Nicky finds her voice just as he opens the door and he pauses with his hand on the door knob. "I knew you would come for me." She says softly, her words almost inaudible.

"Yes." He says simply, not looking at her. But what she hears him say is _always_.

Once the door closes behind him Nicky slumps into a hard chair and stares at it seeing the smirk that had played over Jason's features as he left. "Oh, Davie," she sighed, and buried her head in her hands. She cried silently, a skill learned as a small girl. She thought it could not hurt any more than being forgotten, but having him remember and choose to treat her as just a useful tool cut deep.

Marta knocked on the door only minutes after Jason left and Nicky finds she is actually glad the other woman is here. Her eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, but she figures she can blame the impromptu swim in the sludge filled river the day before.

Nicky opens the door and peeks out before opening it wider. "Did you bring the nail polish and the latest gossip rag," she asks in a long suffering tone. The doctor rolls her eyes as if to say men are idiots and enters the room with a pair of sweats and a tee shirt in her hands. "No," she says with a warm smile and Nicky thinks she might kiss the woman when she hands the clothes to her, "I had the feeling you could use these."

Nicky can't keep from grinning as she clutches the clothes to her chest like a life raft. "Oh my God, you have no idea. I was dying for a shower but couldn't stand the thought of having to put these clothes on again."

Marta glances around nervously and then gestures to the bathroom. "Well, don't let me stop you. I know exactly how you feel."

The fact that she has spent a few nights in a dirty cell and was then doused in a river makes Nicky take Marta up on her offer. She feels human again once she's clean and wearing clothes that aren't still damp and stinking of polluted water. Coming out of the bathroom, she finds Marta sitting on the edge of the bed, watching CNN with an impatient look on her face.

"Hoping to see something about your sister?" Nicky questions, sitting down in the desk chair across from the bed.

Marta's brow knits, "How did you know about that?" Jason didn't strike her as the type to engage in unnecessary conversation.

"Vosen put me in a cell with her," Nicky explains.

Marta's eyes go wide and Nicky can see a part of her come alive. "You talked to her? She's okay?" Marta can't help the way that her eyes become watery as she thinks about Nicky's words. Gemma is alive; she knows this for sure now. It was an idea that Marta had not allowed herself to consider: the fact that Gemma might be dead after all. Now that she knows without a doubt that her sister is still alive and in the hands of those bastards, it just makes her heart hurt even more. All she wants is to help her big sister.

"As okay as you can be in that situation, I guess." Nicky says with a shrug. "She's tough."

Marta smiles slightly, nodding. "Yeah, I know." She wants to know everything about Nicky's interaction with Gemma, what they talked about and how her sister looked and every little detail. "Did she…does she know what's really going on?"

Nicky scoffs, "What's _really_ going on; of course not. They told her you were a terrorist and killed a whole bunch of people." She shrugs. "I set her straight. She knows who the real bad guys are."

Marta is silent for a moment and Nicky thinks she is probably imagining Gemma in some deep, dark hole, desperate and confused her head swimming with lies and half-truths. "Don't worry," Nicky's voice brings her back to the present. "Jason might not come off as the…friendliest of people but he has a good heart, underneath everything. He knows how to get the job done. And if yours is anything like mi—uh—Jason, then I'd say we're in pretty good shape."

Marta can't help but smile. She likes the idea of Aaron being hers. It makes everything slightly better. "Yeah, I'd say we are."

* * *

Jason could tell that Marta did not like being dismissed anymore than Nicky had. He can also tell that Marta does not like him but that is hardly on the list of his concerns. He doesn't care about being liked, especially not by one of the doctors in the program. But Marta leaves anyway and Jason has the feeling it is more because she is curious about Nicky and eager to get the chance to talk to her.

Once Marta is gone, a thick and uncomfortable silence settles in the room. Both men are unwilling to relax and Jason can see that Aaron is still pissed at him for the whole highly-publicized bridge rescue, but he is not in the habit of apologizing and he isn't about to start now.

"So, are you going to tell me what to do or just stare at me?" Jason questions finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

Aaron cocks an eyebrow, "I am not sure yet; it seems like everything I ask you not to do you do and anything I want you to do…You don't."

Jason narrows his eyes at him, "What was I supposed to do; just let them kill her? Sorry to break it to you, Cross, but you and Marta mean nothing to me. I'm not here because I want to help you on your crusade or save the doctor's sister. Nicky is someone I do know and I wasn't just going to leave her to die so we could get to your girl's sister." That is more than Jason would have liked to admit, but his brain did not seem to be filtering his thoughts and keeping them off his tongue.

For a minute, Aaron just stares at him and Jason can see his training at work, he can see the man reading him. For once, he doesn't mind. "Fine, are there any more damsels that you plan on rescuing," Aaron asks, but Jason just gives him a look instead of an answer. "Okay. Well, I think it goes without saying that we now have a very small window of opportunity to get the files we need and get Gemma out. They're going to be on high-alert, we can't wait any longer."

"I know where they're keeping Gemma," Jason says and Aaron gives him a surprised look. "They had Nicky in the same place. The National Research Assay Group's downtown building. Assuming they don't move her."

Aaron purses his lips in thought, "They won't," he shakes his head, "They want us to come for her." He says softly, almost as though he's thinking out loud.

"Which begs the question…why would you do it?" Jason rolls his eyes. "Is walking into traps something they taught the Outcome agents?"

Aaron smirks and replies, "It is hardly a trap if you know it's there."

"Why are we going for the files we need first," Jason asks ignoring Aaron's witty comeback, "If you know where the sister is, why not just go in and get her? Why waste time getting the files?"

"I'd like to avoid walking right into the building where there are hundreds of people who want to kill us." Aaron replies and Jason gives him a '_huh, what a concept'_ look. "If we have the files, we have something to barter with. With the Congressional Hearings, they're not going to want those files just floating around."

Aaron is aware that he is testing him and it makes Jason smile. Aaron for all his annoying habits and cocky attitude is really very smart. He has made sure they will be covering their asses on the way out the door and that is enough to forestall Jason's instinct to butt heads with the other asset.

"So what's the plan? Get the files and knock on this Byer guy's door and have a little sit-down with him?" Jason questions snidely.

Aaron smirks. "Exactly."


	12. Chapter 12

**Twelve **

It only took thirty minutes of quick and dirty planning for Aaron and Jason to come to the same conclusion: they were going to need the women's input in order to finalize any plans they might make. It was a fact that both women had insider information that Aaron and Jason could only guess at. So, after a short non-verbal argument about which one of them would go and eat crow, Jason ended up being the one to _ask _the women to join them in planning the theft of the files from Sterisyn-Morlanta.

Walking into his room he found Marta and Nicky both with hotel issued stationary and ballpoint pens compiling information they had either gathered or gleaned while working for the enemy.

Marta was at the table with her back to the door and Nicky was lying diagonally across their bed on her stomach using the cheap plastic coffee tray to bare down on. Nicky was saying, "Yeah, that sounds like a weak enough point for us to exploit, but we need to move pretty fast. Jason being identified puts a serious crimp in our timetable."

Both women turned toward the door, but their reactions were too relaxed for Jason's liking. "You would both be dead," he informed them matter-of-factly, "if I were working for the other side."

Nicky rolled her eyes and turned back to Marta as she spoke, "It took you boys longer than we expected, but we figured your male egos would relent sooner or later and you would realize you need us."

"Besides," Marta added as she shuffled her papers together and stood up, "Aaron already texted me to warn me you were coming."

"He texted you," Jason asked, eyes narrowing.

"Yes," she pulled her cheap burner phone from her pocket and showed him.

"Then why the hell did I just walk up a flight of stairs," he asked exasperated, "if all he had to do is text you?"

"Don't know," Marta shrugged.

"Maybe," Nicky hypothesized, "He thought you could use the exercise."

"Maybe he can use an extra hole in his head," Jason muttered. "We need to get on with the planning."

"So," Nicky said as she slowly turned onto her back and pushed herself up onto her elbows, "You need the little women to come help plan your crime." It was a statement and not a question, but Jason had been expecting this tack and he had it covered.

"Aaron was reluctant but," Jason smirked, as he threw Aaron under the bus and then backed it up for a second pass, "I finally made him realize that aside from being intelligent, strong women you also had information we needed."

Both women just stared at Jason for a moment and then they both broke into uncontrollable laughter. Jason watched as Nicky flopped backward onto the mattress and held her stomach as she laughed like he had not seen her laugh since she was ten years old. She was so different from that little girl he knew, not just mentally but physically, too. He found he missed the long blond hair she had always worn and he remembers that day in Tangiers when she cut it off and dyed her hair that god awful shade of black. She had looked up, caught his eyes in the mirror and hers had pleaded with him. He had not understood the deep sorrow filled eyes or the pain they spoke of, but he had realized then that he needed her as far away from him as possible.

Nicky was the first to regain her composure and he watched as she rolled off the bed and bounced over to him with a huge grin on her face. "Aaron won't make the mistake of sending you to do the dirty work again," she winked at him and Jason felt a twinge in his chest, "We promise."

"Serves him right," Marta grinned as she followed Nicky out the door.

The trip downstairs was quick, but once they reached the room both Nicky and Marta took turns making sure Aaron felt their displeasure at having been excluded from the pre-planning stage of this operation. Jason just sat back and watched the whole scene unfold like a Shakespearian comedy. It was priceless to see Cross' confused face as the women snubbed him after having their say. To his credit it did not take him long to figure out that Jason had plotted against him. "Et tu Jason," he asked with a quirked brow.

To which Jason replied, "One of us had to take the blame."

Aaron made a move toward Jason, but Marta quickly grabbed his arm and steered him to the end of the bed. Nicky then made sure to seat herself dead center between the former Treadstone and Outcome agents.

"Marta and I were talking while you two were coming to your senses," Nicky explained as she handed each of them a hand written copy of the combined information the two women had gathered.

"So, first off the files we need are in the Sterisyn-Morlanta facility, where I used to work." Marta is standing in front of Aaron, Jason and Nicky, who are all perched on the end of the bed and watching her attentively like pupils in a classroom. Marta was all business and Jason thought she must have been one of those lecturers that always stated the obvious, at least what was the obvious to her, and then went into excruciating detail before winding down about the time someone fell from their chair dead of boredom. But Aaron nodded as she continued, "The good news is that even though the majority of the files were kept digitally on a secure server, we still kept everything on paper. Electronic medical records are great in theory but government facilities are aware of the amount of crucial data that can be lost due to file corruption, electromagnetic interference and malicious software."

Jason arches an eyebrow, "Paper files make it easy to steal. There are ways to defend against data loss."

Marta turns in his direction and shrugs as she explains, "I think the idea is that you're already dead before you can get to the door." She snorts, "Predictably, the files are kept in the basement. There is a five foot thick blast door that will be triggered in the event that the facility is either breached by hostile forces or a nuclear blast is eminent.

"How do we by-pass the door," Nicky asked as she leafed through her own hand written pages.

"It is blocked open," Marta answered, "As long as we don't go in guns blazing or blow up anything the door will remain open." She turned to the mirror and grabbed an eyeliner pencil sketching out a rough representation of the building on the silvered-glass. "There are five floors and about fifty armed guards in-between the entrance and the records room."

"Sounds like a picnic," Jason snarks, "Remind me again why I thought this was a bad idea?"

Marta narrows her eyes as she looks at Jason and he realizes that just maybe he has stepped a little too hard on the good doctor's toes. "Go ahead," She commands and Jason gives her a blank look. "Tell me I'm an idiot. Tell me how stupid this is, how I'm foolish for wanting to save my sister's life. Get it all out of your system so we can actually accomplish something." She gives him a _go ahead_ gesture with her hand and Jason has to stifle the urge to laugh because she looks so perturbed.

Nicky looks at Jason and he can see that she knows he is amused by the smirk on her face and a gently arching eyebrow. Jason doesn't say anything just glances down at his hands.

Nicky's smirk turns into a full-fledged grin that transforms her features and it irks him that just a side-ways glance at her turns his heart over. He knows she is amused because she has always been a fan of watching someone put him in his place, even if his time-out doesn't last for long. "I think the floor is yours, Dr. Shearing." Nicky says, looking back at the doctor, "Right Jason?"

Jason lifted his hands in a gesture of capitulation and Marta continued, "Like I was saying, there are armed guards throughout the building." With a final look in Jason's direction drew an arrow on the mirror. "There's a door around the back of the building that is used for deliveries. Several of the guards and employees use it when they sneak out for smoking breaks, so security there is lax. If we can make it around to the back, that's our way in."

"What is the protocol for entering and leaving the building," Aaron asked.

"Well," Marta gestured to the drawing as she answered, "S&M doesn't have your typical time clock. Instead your employee badge is logged every time you enter or leave the building as well as logging the areas you access while inside. So, in order to by-pass this some of the die-hard smokers will prop the door open and leave their badge just inside the door. On occasion they might even clock-out, exit the building, and back in, entering the building, blocking the door open and smoking like that."

"Why hasn't anyone nipped that in the bud," Jason asked with a frown.

"It has," she shrugged, "More than once, but it is difficult to police every point of entry and not for anything, but smokers are a determined bunch."

Jason would give her that, he did not understand the drive to inhale toxins but he liked the sort of advantage some people's addiction gave them.

"Once we get inside, we have to get to an elevator. Unfortunately, all the elevators take ID badges or they won't work. They won't even open unless we swipe a badge." Marta continues.

Aaron questions, "Do guards carry them?" Marta nods and he hitches a shoulder in a half shrug. "Easy."

Marta smiles slightly and then reverts to lecture mood and Jason gives her his undivided attention. "Once we actually get inside the building and to the elevators, we'll probably encounter different scientists, guards and cameras. And trust me these people take security very seriously so there isn't a corner that isn't being recorded. There will be plenty of people watching the security footage."

"Especially thanks to a certain someone," Aaron remarks, getting to his feet. Jason glares at Aaron but restrains himself from actively shutting him up, barely. There's a reason Nicky is sitting in between them. "So we get in, keep our heads down and get out…Easy!" Both Marta and Jason give Aaron doubtful looks but he ignores them both as he continues. "While I go into Sterisyn-Morlanta—"

But Aaron doesn't get much farther than that and Jason is not surprised when the doctor slowly puts the eyeliner down and gives Aaron a look. "What do you mean when _you_ go in?" She doesn't give him the chance to finish and Jason can already see that the Outcome agent's stellar plan is getting ready to be rewritten. "I'm going with you."

Aaron shakes his head, adamantly, "Too dangerous," he says dismissively.

Marta crosses her arms over her chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, I must have missed the part where you explained how you will find the correct back door that will allow you access into the building and how to navigate the hallways to get to the elevator and how to find the files we needed once you got into the basement room." She bumps her forehead with the heel of her hand. "How could I have missed that? I mean, you're Aaron Cross, you know everything."

"I'm not ignorant, Doc." Jason can hear an edge in Cross' quiet voice and he sees the doctor's eyes widen before she glances away.

Jason clears his throat loudly as the other man stares a hole in the side of the doctor's head. "Can you guys have your lover's quarrel later? I thought we were having a mission briefing here." He winces when Nicky elbows him in the side and stands to her feet.

"Let's take a break for a bit," Nicky nudges him with her toe and gives him a significant look.

He wants to object, but the way Aaron and Marta lock eyes for a beat longer before Aaron looks away and continues on as though Marta never interrupted decides for him.

"You and Nicky will find out everything you can on Eric Byer. And I mean everything. I want to know what kind of car he drives, where he buys his groceries, his shoe size and especially, where he lives." He and Jason exchange a brief glance. "And I want to know what his security detail is like."

Nicky gives Aaron a salute with a jaunty, "Aye-aye, boss. That sounds easy enough." Jason knows that Nicky can find almost anything with a computer and a secure server she could have more information about Byer in ten minutes then the man probably knows about himself. She's good with this type of work; it's what she was made for. Jason remembers a discussion with her in Paris when he asked her if she liked what it was they did. She had shrugged said she loved helping her country but the death-defying heroics and certain death moments…not so much. At least Cross was playing to Nicky's strengths.

"So you're going into the lion's den and we're going to sit behind a computer." Jason repeats, arching an eyebrow, "Finally something that makes sense."

"Too much action for you, Bourne," Aaron questions.

Jason scoffs, "I'd rather leave the stupidity to you. I'm not keen on getting killed over a bunch of files."

"We'll get the information on Byer." Nicky interrupts before Aaron has the chance to offer up a comeback. "What should we do when we find out where he lives? Recon?"

Aaron shrugs, "That can't hurt. But do not engage." He looks as Jason as he says this. "We need to make sure we have all the cards in our hand when we do."

Jason shrugs as if to say _I don't care what we do_.

"We'll meet up here at oh-seven hundred," Aaron says as he stands up from his place at the foot of the bed. Night had already fallen outside the window and as much as Jason is ready to get down to business, he knows they all need a decent night's sleep. Not to mention that Cross and his lady doctor need to clear the air that has been tense for the last ten minutes. It would be better to wait until they have clear heads and a night to refresh and focus on the mission. Jason follows Nicky's lead and they both leave the tense and quiet couple without a word.

* * *

"I—I didn't mean to say…imply that you are—," Marta barely waits until the door shuts after the other couple before she turns to Aaron.

"It's nothing," he shakes his head. "I get it."

"No, you don't," Marta says frankly. "You know I don't think less of you because—"

"Can we not do this right now," Aaron interrupts with a heavy sigh.

Marta gives him a calculating look and crosses her arms over her chest, "I'm coming with you tomorrow."

"No." Aaron says again, albeit more gently. "It's too dangerous, Marta. You have no training."

"No, but I have information that you don't and we both know I am not questioning your intelligence. I just know that building like the back of my hand." Marta protests.

Aaron shakes his head, "I've been in that building too, in case you have forgotten," he points out.

"But you've seen one hallway, one lab and one door," she protests.

"Do you honestly think that none of us ever visited that place when we weren't sitting in your exam room, Doc?"

"Have you been in the basement? Do you know which files you are looking for or how they are organized? There are folders down there full of reports that I've written," Marta argues. "I know what is valuable; I know what's going to burn them to the ground. Besides, if I'm there, we can carry more files and I'll be an extra pair of eyes."

Aaron purses his lips and turns away from her. He feels like he's being torn in two different directions. He knows Marta is right; her knowledge of the building is far more extensive than his and with her leading the way, he would waste less time trying to find his way around, both in the halls and in the file room. But anything could happen; they could be recognized at any time and start a shoot-out. He cannot protect her from that. He doesn't want to willingly march her into a dangerous situation.

"I can help," Marta continues, taking a step toward him. "I want to help. I can't…I can't stand the thought of you going in alone. I can't just wait here for you, Aaron; I can't let you take all the risks for me…for my sister, while I just sit around." She reaches out and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. "I need to do this, too."

Sighing, Aaron turns around and pulls her against him. "I need you to be safe," he murmurs into her hair.

"I will be," Marta whispers, "With you." She presses kisses to his lips and strokes her fingers through his hair and Aaron just shakes his head smiling as he walks her backward to the bed.

"You cheat," he mutters, slowly slipping his hands under her loose top and skims them along her waist and sides until they cover her small breasts. Trailing his lips to her ear he nips at her jaw before whispering. "You don't fight fair at all, Doc."

Confused she gasps, "We were fighting," when he plucks at her nipples and she shakes her head. "I thought we were coming to an," he pushes her shirt up and drags it off lowering his mouth to her left breast, "Oh, god, agreeing."

Aaron, huffs out a laugh, tossing her shirt to the floor he turned them until his legs touch the mattress and sits down pulling Marta astride his lap. Releasing her breast Aaron angles her head down to his and presses his forehead to hers. Staring intently into her eyes, "Don't make me regret agreeing, Doc. I'm not sure that is something I could live with."

"I won't," she whispers, stroking his face and neck, "I won't"

* * *

This should not be awkward, Nicky thinks as they make their way back to their own room. She should not feel like this as if he is a complete stranger; she has known Jason in some capacity or another for the majority of her life but at this moment, Nicky can barely bring herself to look at him. The knowledge that somehow he remembers, somehow he knows who he is, who he was, and all the things he has ever done, but is choosing to keep that information from her and act like she is just any other blank face from his past with Treadstone still stings. More than it should. But Nicky cannot seem to help herself. She can only compartmentalize so much before it just becomes too much to bear. And let's face it the past three years are straining the boundaries of her little black box.

Nicky thinks about saying something to Jason, calling him on his behavior and sudden selective memory, but what would be the point? Looking Jason in the face and having him deny knowing her…that would end her. It would hurt far worse than both of them pretending there isn't a history between them. So, she dances to his tune and pretends that she doesn't ache for him and that her heart isn't weeping in pain and that he is no one special to her.

"I can sleep on the floor." Jason's voice brings Nicky out of her reverie and she looks up at him. She has been so lost in her thoughts that she didn't even realize that she was staring down at the singular bed in the room like it held the secrets of the universe.

Nicky wants to roll her eyes and snap that he hasn't slept on the floor when they are sharing a room since he was twelve, but she doesn't, instead she just shakes her head and keeps step with the off-kilter tune they are trying to dance to. "Don't be ridiculous. You'd never get any sleep that way." She shrugs. "I think we're both adult enough to sleep in the same bed." There's plenty of space, they could both lie comfortably without ever touching each other. That, for some reason, bothers her too.

Jason smirks. "I notice how you didn't offer to sleep on the floor." He remarks, his tone slightly teasing.

"I'm the woman; it wouldn't be very gentlemanly for you to let that happen." Nicky teases him right back.

Jason shakes his head. "I like how you're fine with playing the gender card when it suits you." He remarks and Nicky gives him an innocent smile and bats her eyelashes. "You also seem to be the only one who still believes I can be a gentleman."

Nicky shrugs, watching him as he pulls off his shoes. "I know you," She says softly.

"I'm not that person anymore," Jason says but he doesn't look at her. She wonders if he realizes she knows his tell because as he is acting like he is arranging his boots by the side of the bed and it is the most interesting thing in the world.

"I—," The words seem to freeze in her throat. Talking to him was never this hard. "I think you are."

Jason looks up at her and she can tell he is gauging her sincerity when he shakes his head slightly and mutters, "I'm not." Nicky looks for him then; searches his features for even a trace of him, of David, in his eyes, in his manner and she is sad to find none. David is completely buried beneath Jason and it hurts worse, knowing he is hiding from her.

"Maybe you're right," Nicky swallows around the lump in her throat and starts pulling down the comforter and sheets, avoiding Jason's gaze. "My Davie," she continues without meeting his startled gaze, he froze the moment she used her nickname for him, "My David would die before he hurt me." She does not want to further embarrass herself by letting him see the tears in her eyes and she has said too much already. So, she gets into bed and turns on her side so she's facing the wall with her back to Jason.

Nicky lays still, her eyes staring at a minuscule point on the wall. A few moments later, she feels the mattress shake and shift as Jason climbs in bed as well. She knows without turning over that his back is to her as well, like they are strangers instead of former lovers or even friends. Nicky closes her eyes and turns her face against the pillow. All those years of perfecting her ability to cry without anyone being the wiser are definitely paying off.

* * *

Jason is, now, one hundred percent convinced that Aaron Cross is a certifiable idiot. He cannot believe the Outcome asset is going to partner up with his doctor for step one in their We-Will-All-Be-Dead-By-Monday plan. Either that or the man is completely whipped and willing to ignore all his training for the smile of a pretty girl. Whatever the case, Jason takes comfort in the fact that they will both be dead by the time the sun goes down and he and Nicky will be off the hook for this idiotic search and rescue mission.

He tried to talk sense into the other man during the pre-operation rendezvous. Jason even went so far as to tell the other agent what it is like to watch someone you love die from a gunshot wound that was meant for your own head. It was just happenstance that Nicky had been close enough to hear his heart rending conversation with the other asset and Jason would have chewed his own arm off to not have seen the look of total, dismay, betrayal and heartbreak in Nicky's eyes, but he had and the way she carefully avoided looking at him after that set his teeth on edge. There wasn't much to say after that and Jason felt like the entire morning was one giant exercise in futility; because it was all said the night before.

Jason isn't in the mood to make small talk and it doesn't seem like Aaron is either. Nicky is hunched over Aaron's computer studiously ignoring Jason and everyone else in the room and Marta is staring at the television hoping for a glimpse of her sister. Jason would tell her that the next time her sister's face shows up on CNN it will be because she is dead, but he figures the Outcome agent would probably try to separate his head from his shoulders if he enlightens the good doctor on program politics. Everyone has their respective assignments and even though Jason is not exactly on board with the whole thing, he is going to do what he has been instructed to do. He has never deliberately failed a mission. Well…there was that one time but just look how that worked out for him.

Jason and Nicky were to hold down the fort in Cross' hotel room and it seemed, to Jason, less intimate using Aaron and Marta's small room while they are gone. Aaron had already given Nicky access to the laptop that has seen a lot of travel time over the past few days and Jason can see the way that she is in grossed in the business at hand. He hopes being in work mood will distract them both from the giant elephant, which is their history, in the room.

She had pretty much called him onto the carpet last night when they were going to bed and she had cried her silent tears for a long time before slipping into a fit-full sleep. It was harder than he thought it should have been to turn toward her and wrap his arms around her in comfort. She was never a particularly loud weeping mess and he was pretty sure that she thought he was ignorant to the fact that she had lain beside him letting tears soak into her pillow.

He had hardened his heart and stiffened his spine to keep from pulling his old friend into his body and give them both a little peace for the night, but it had cost him. Jason was out of sorts and he had not slept at all. So, at around three in the morning when Nicky had tossed and turned toward him, seeking warmth, Jason had weakened enough to slide his hand across the mattress between them and Nicky had followed it back until she was nestled into his side.

When Aaron and Marta left, the only goodbyes and good-lucks are exchanged between Marta and Nicky. The men barely share a glance, which is just fine with Jason. He's never really been the sentimental type.


	13. Chapter 13

**AUTHORS' NOTE: **Jack E Peace and I would like to thank those of you who have been so great about reviewing this fic…I hope this rather long chapter makes up for our slightly slower pace at posting. Enjoy!

**THIRTEEN**

Marta knows that every person in life has their own path and that hers happened to lead her to a life spent indoors, studying facts, figures and outcomes. It was more suited to her looking at life through a microscope. But somehow the path she chose led her to this moment: lying on her stomach at the edge of the wooded area that rings the Sterisyn-Morlanta facility. The land in front of her slopes downward in a sharp hill that leads to an open area and then, after several yards, the back entrance of the building. She can't see any of those features from where she lies; she just knows them from memory, which is what brought her and Aaron to the edge of the woods in the first place.

Aaron is no longer with her, leaving her to blend into the high grass and pine needles on her own. Marta tries to keep her mind focused on staying as still as possible instead of letting her thoughts wander to what Aaron might have encountered at the back of the facility and what could possibly be taking him so long. If she stopped to think about it she might find it ironic that she should worry over his safety here, of all places, especially knowing he had stepped out of her exam room too many times into war-torn hell and come back mostly unscathed. She does not think about it though because if she did she would also have to think about the casual disregard she had shown him and his compatriots, and that would be too painful a realization to deal with at the moment.

She and Aaron had watched the back of the building for nearly an hour and a half. Aaron noting each person as they came and went infrequently until he could see some pattern only discernible to him. She was stunned when he explained that every forty minutes a single guard popped his head out to scan the area to see if there was anything worth noting in the undeveloped land before returning to the building. The smokers made Aaron's face light up like a little boy on Christmas morning, especially the woman in the white lab coat that seemed to spend a great deal of time on her cellphone and puffing away on a cancer stick.

Marta could not make any of this out from their spot, but Aaron was Outcome 5 and his physical enhancements had always been hawk-like vision and hearing that was uncharted. Over the four years that she studied him, there was no nicer way to put it, and the others, _Five,_ had always come back with some form of physical injury. His program kit was usually dirty and dinged-up with scratches and the silver plating was wearing thin in many places when he arrived in her exam room with wounds he had sewn up himself. It was not until she met him, actually met him, that she realized the program had most-likely used him in more combat situations than the others. It made sense because out of all of Outcome's participants Aaron's enhancements would be valuable on the battlefield. Although, he could also seamlessly blend into any environment as he proved when he charmed and cajoled their way into the factory in Manila.

Aaron left her shortly after the woman appeared for another cigarette break. Marta did not ask what he planned to do with her; she trusted him to only use as much force as was strictly necessary. She wished that he had allowed her to go down with him but he wanted her to wait here until he had taken care of the guard and secured their ticket into the building. He slipped off down the hill and toward the building blending into the weak shadows leaving Marta with strict instructions that she remain where she was until he called for her.

Marta didn't have a problem with following those instructions for the first ten minutes, but now she was getting tired of being jabbed by the rough grass and poked by pinecones and rocks. Even as uncomfortable as she is Marta tries to keep as still as possible, thinking about what Aaron would do in this exact situation and bitching and moaning about a pinecone bruising his ribs was probably not on the list of things he would be doing. She knows discomfort wouldn't have him squirming all over like he was desperate to alert every guard in the area that there were two wanted fugitives trying to break into the building and so she lay silent and still except the slight twitch of her fingers as they itched to search for and dislodge the source of her discomfort.

Marta stares down at a blade of grass, watching it shift in the slight breeze. She wonders if she should be worried about Aaron or confident in the assumption that he's doing his thing. Despite her better judgment, worry is starting to take over as the prominent emotion in her body. Maybe Jason was right, maybe they are nothing more than a group of idiots. They plan on just walking into her old place of employment, still run by the very people who want them dead, grabbing a ton of files and walking right out again. At least all the people who worked with and who would be more likely to recognize her are dead now. Thinking that way doesn't make her feel better about Aaron.

A whistle cuts through the silence and Marta practically lunges to her feet. Aaron is standing by the back door with a white lab coat in one hand and to lanyards with badges hanging from the other. Marta cannot see the owner of the lab coat but the guard is slumped at Aaron's feet. He flashes Marta a cocky smile and gestures for her to join him. He tosses the white lab coat to her and then bends to search the guard's pockets. Aaron fishes the guard's key out of his pocket before helping himself to the man's small array of weapons. He checks the gun, taking stock of the bullets before adding the guard's pocket knife to his own pants pocket. It's not much, but it will do.

When Marta stands before him, Aaron can't help but smile at her. "Never thought I would get to see the Sexy Scientist again," he made a show of letting his eyes roam over her as he had always done in their examinations, "You always make such an attractive appearance." His voice was low and playful as he plucks a leaf free of her hair before moving to the pine needles that are clinging to her breast and thigh. "Seems like the outdoors suit you, Doc."

"I don't think so," Marta scoffs, brushing the rest of the needles free. "I'm more of a microscopes and glass slides kind of girl."

"Then it's your lucky day," Aaron remarks, turning toward the building. "Don't say I never took you anywhere nice."

Aaron hands her the gun he took from the downed security guard and Marta swallows, still unfamiliar and unaccustomed to the feeling of a weapon in her hands. Aaron withdraws his own gun from the waistband of his jeans and she can tell the weapon is like an old friend to him, a comfort. Marta glances up at the building as Aaron slides the card through the reader to the left of the door. It feels strange to be back here, almost unfamiliar. When Sterisyn-Morlanta had come into view two hours ago, it was almost like seeing something from a dream or distant memory. Like she could feel her connection to this place but it didn't seem to touch her. It's hard to believe that a little over a week ago she was looking forward to walking these halls and getting on with her research, serving the people that have been hunting her and so many others down like dogs.

Now, as Marta follows Aaron into the hallway, her heart starts hammering, filling her body with a sense of anxiety. She knows it's not just the fear of being caught and killed. It's all so familiar: the smells, the lights, the sounds drifting in from behind the closed doors. It all reminds her of that woman she was before, the scientist who had been fine with ignoring moral quandaries if it meant getting to play with and manipulate genetics. It's too easy to remember the role she played in helping the program do the things they had done to Aaron. It's easy to remember what she had done to him.

Aaron's eyes move up and down the hallway, his body tense and ready to react at any moment. His finger hovers near the trigger of the gun in his hands, itching to make it useful and protect the things that matter. But there's no one in the sterile hallway, nothing to see but polished tiles reflecting the unforgiving fluorescent lights above. Aaron puts the gun back into the waistband of his pants and motions for Marta to do the same. Marta might look the part of scientist but he is not dressed like the rest of the staff, he is not eager to make them stick out any more than he does already.

"The elevator shouldn't be far from here," Marta says her voice barely above a whisper. She has gone down to the basement records room so many times before and never thought twice about it. Now all she can think about is how they will be underground and if they get caught, they will have to fight their way up to get out. Well, he will fight their way out. She tries not to think like a pessimist, as though that can somehow help keep them undetected, but as they near the elevator she can feel the pessimistic part of her brain taking hold.

* * *

"For someone who works in the field he does, he's not very careful," Nicky remarks as she writes down Eric Byer's home address. She adds it to the list of information she has already compiled about the man. He has two children, Grace and Bella; he has been married to Abigail for almost twenty years and he is a deacon and Sunday school teacher at Grace Baptist Church. Nicky wonders how he can sit through preaching on Sunday morning as if the moral decay he represents does not exist. She knows the names of the schools his daughters attend and where his wife does yoga ever Monday and Wednesday. Thanks to the judicious hacking of his bank records she even knew where he bought his morning coffee and what he ate for lunch every day.

Jason glances over her shoulder, watching as she writes. "He doesn't have to be. He thinks he's untouchable," He remarks.

Nicky looks at him over her shoulder "Think that if we call him up and ask him really nice to let Gemma go that he would?" She questions, raising her eyebrows.

Jason matches her look, "Got his phone number?"

"His life is an open book in my hands," Nicky replies, "He uses Turbo Tax and if you give me ten minutes I can tell you exactly where all those undeclared funds have been socked away. I'll wrap that up with a pretty bow to go with that pile of financials I already gave you." This is something she is good at, this is something she understands. It is a welcome relief from the glaring thing she doesn't that is currently leaning over her shoulder.

"Well, that would be great if we wanted to turn him over to the IRS," Jason remarks. He leaves Nicky to do her thing, walking over to the window and peering outside. It is a familiar path for him; his nerves won't let him keep still. Aaron and Marta have been gone for nearly three hours and he's starting to wish that he'd gone with them, just for something to do. He's not this type of person, the person who sits around and does research and recon.

He is the guy that puts the recon to use. To be fair, Jason has sort of enjoyed being trapped in this room with Nicky. They have not talked about anything more personal than what to order from room service but it still feels personal in some way…Normal, relaxed. He feels comfortable and that thought both pleases and upsets him. He does not do comfortable, not any more than he does sitting around and waiting. It's just not him.

"Wow," she whistles and Jason glances at his watch. It took her less than ten minutes. "Or if we wanted to fund a dozen third world countries. He has more in than five billion in multiple Swiss accounts and I don't think I have even scratched the surface. She looked up at Jason and the stunned expression might have made him laugh when they were children, but they are not children any longer and the desire to laugh has not been strong with him in the last few years.

"Tell me," he commands, and she blinks before glancing down at the computer.

"On the surface it looks like the National Research Assay Group, headed by Ric Byer, is one component contracted by the government to oversee the research and development of various programs but when you go deeper," Nicky shook her head and swallowed obviously disturbed by what she was seeing. "The deeper I get the more convoluted but more impressive this guy turns out to be. Somehow he has his fingers in every aspect of the programs. He has controlling interests in companies ranging from medical suppliers to weapons manufacturing. There literally is not one company billing on this program that does not feed Byer's Swiss accounts. Even the coffee vendor that supplies the research facilities is owned by one of the LLC's Byer set up through shell corporations."

"He does not live like a man raking in cash hand over fist," Jason commented with a frown.

"I know that is what is frightening about the amount of money he has stockpiled," Nicky agreed squinting at the computer screen before raising troubled eyes to Jason's. "I am almost afraid to find out what he plans to use the money for."

Jason acknowledged her fear with a nod and then turned back toward the window as he muttered, "They better find what we need."

"Yeah," Nicky sighed as she continued rooting around in Byer's accounts. She did not like the fact that Byer had so much currency at his disposal and her mind was busy working out a way to syphon off the balance slowly enough that Byer would not even notice until it was too late. It would ensure that if this plan went to hell NRAG would not have the resources to keep up the chase.

* * *

Being in the hallway seems to be having the same effect on her that being in a library does. Gone is the confident doctor that strode through these hallways, her mind on facts, figures and equations. In her place is a woman constantly expecting to be shot in the back of the head; her eyes dance and skitter off of the walls and doors as they walk. Marta points to their left and Aaron moves first, trying to use his body to shield Marta's. They try to walk as casually as possible, keeping their heads down and their strides quick. Aaron doesn't have to glance around to know that there are cameras everywhere and he just hopes that they don't stand out too much if someone is giving the monitors a cursory glance.

They reach the elevator and Aaron swipes the card once again. The doors part with _bing_ and slide open obediently. Unfortunately, the cab is not unoccupied. There's a lanky male doctor standing inside, studying an open file in his hands. He takes a step forward without even looking up, his mind occupied on the words on the page. Aaron has the feeling the guy would probably walk by without a second look but he can't take that chance. He's on the guy the second the doors are open all the way, shoving him back so his head cracks against the wall and he drops to the ground. Aaron looks toward Marta, who is still standing in the hallway, "Come on," he commands, "Hurry."

Marta steps into the elevator, sparing a glance for the man who had the bad luck to be headed for this floor. He looks like he is still breathing, so she takes comfort in that fact. Marta pushes the button that will take them to the basement level and swipes the card again to get the cab moving. Aaron pulls the man into a sitting position, leaning him against the corner. He gives the man's file a cursory glance but it doesn't seem to be related to him or Blackbriar or Outcome or Treadstone in anyway. It's all a bunch of gibberish to him, heightened IQ or not. Quickly, removing the man's watch and keys Aaron rises to his feet to stand next to Marta.

She is watching as he puts the items pilfered from the unconscious man into his pockets and he can tell she is curious about his propensity for petty theft, but she doesn't ask and he does not tell. This is not the time or place for that conversation and he might never be ready to discuss his less admirable traits.

The elevator slides to a stop and once again Aaron steps forward first, his hand moving instinctively to where he can feel the cool press of medal against his back. There is no reason for him to withdraw the weapon; the basement hallway seems deserted. To the left of the elevator is a single door with a pane of frosted glass in the middle. To the right are a fire extinguisher and a door marked _stairwell_. Not much to write home about. Aaron hopes that they will be able to get the things they need and slip out of the facility as easily as they made it in. However, the fact that things have gone so smoothly so far is causing him to mentally prep for the moment when it all goes to shit. Aaron steps out of the elevator and Marta follows, trying to fight down the ever present feelings of anxiety.

The door to the filing room opens as soon as Aaron twists the handle and a quick glance inside assures him that there's no one there waiting for them. Marta closes the door quietly behind her, taking in her surroundings. It's all how she remembers it: rows and rows of filing cabinets that stretch out on both sides and go on farther than she can see from where she stands. There was a desk pressed against the wall to the right of the door and dotted with cups full of paper clips, scissors, pens and other office items that would prove useful for filing and marking up files.

"Okay Doc," Aaron turned to face her, "Point me in the right direction." Taking off the backpack he has tucked underneath his jacket and unzips it, pulling out another folded up bag, which he hands to Marta. They are going to be much more conspicuous trying to leave the building with full bags but in that situation, getting the hell out of here will be their number one priority so he is less worried about attracting attention.

Aaron lets Marta take a minute to get reoriented with the room, with the filing system, which is lost on him. All he sees is a room full of filing cabinets and even though he knows that there is all kinds of paperwork in this room about him and his stomach turns at the thought of what his files might say. Would he find observations and thoughts on him written in Marta's own hand? What would they say? He is as sure that he doesn't want to know what her clinical detached mind thought of him any more than he wants her to know the details of his many missions. He thinks they might both be burned in that fire and he does not want to light the match that might flare against them.

Marta takes a deep breath and swallows as she leads him past a half dozen cabinets before stopping in front of a group of three that apparently hold more significance than the others. She pulls open one of the draws and studies the contents. "These are the Outcome files," She tells him, pulling out a file and flipping it open. Aaron recognizes the picture of the man he met briefly while he was on his time-out in Alaska. A man who is now dead, thanks to the people in the very building he's standing in. "These all have dosage panels, evaluations, medical histories, all of it." Marta holds the file out to him. "All signed by you know who," She taps her finger over Byer's signature.

Aaron smiles, "Jackpot…What other goodies do you have for me, Doc?" He questions.

Marta smirks but wisely bites down her first response because the last thing they need is to be distracted. "There should be files in here from all of the programs. Employee information, briefs, mission reports." She points to one of the filing cabinets, which boasts a shiny lock. "I'm guessing the good stuff is in those."

"No problem. Do you have a bobby pin?" Marta gives Aaron a blank look and he shrugs. "Isn't that how they do it in the movies?"

"What, they didn't cover this in basic training," Marta questions, arching an eyebrow.

Aaron shrugs. "Of course they did. But I learned how to pick a lock when I was eight years old. Grab me some of those paper clips, will you?" Marta does as he asks and he is able to unlock the first cabinet with ease, "Open sesame."

They move around the room in silence, opening the drawers and removing the files, stuffing them into their bags. Aaron knows it is not going to take long before the backpacks are so full they won't zip and he's starting to wish he had a duffel bag or another way to carry the files out. They're going to need to take as much as they can because once they leave the building and the suits in the program realize they have been robbed they will probably burn the stuff left behind.

But Aaron does not know what is the most useful, so he is just emptying the cabinets into his bag like he is stocking up for the end of the world. He has stopped taking so many agent files, just a few from each of the other programs but all of the files dealing with the Outcome and Treadstone programs. He is trying to focus mainly on the Intel, which is what will really sell Byer and his fellows down the river at the Congressional hearings. Anytime Aaron finds folders detailing hits on foreign dignitaries signed with Byer or Vosen's names, it is like Christmas; or, at least how he could imagine Christmas feeling.

Aaron glances over to where Marta is kneeling in front of one of the cabinets. Instead of cramming files into her bag, she is flipping through one of them, her eyes jumping around as she scans the words on the paper. "Marta," She jumps in surprise before looking over at him. "Are you okay?"

Marta looks at him and then down at the folder in her hands. "How…" She sets the file aside. "I was such an idiot. No, I wasn't an idiot. I knew what was going on, somewhere in the back of my mind I knew. I knew what I was doing was wrong and I hid behind the science." She shakes her head. "I did anything they asked. I enjoyed it." She drops her eyes away from his. "I'm sorry Aaron. I'm so sorry I ever…that I was ever this person."

"You're not that person now, right? And not everything you did was wrong." Aaron starts to move toward her but freezes in mid-step when he hears the sound of the door opening. "Shit," he mouths and then holds a finger to his mouth signaling her to remain silent.

Marta hears the noise too and her eyes go wide. She starts grabbing the stack of files and shoving them into her backpack, like that's somehow the important thing here. Aaron picks up his own bag, zipping it as quietly as he can before sliding it over his shoulders. He's not about to lose the very reason they came down here in the first place.

Aaron can hear the sounds of another person moving around in the room, but not the sounds of someone casually going about their business of filing and cataloging. Aaron knows the sounds of being hunted, the way their visitor is trying to walk as silently as possible, and the faint hum of static from a walkie-talkie or radio, the smell of oil from a gun. He never should have been careless enough to just leave the unconscious scientist in the elevator. It has brought the wolf right to their door.

Hopefully, there's only one of them. He can kill the unlucky bastard and then he and Marta can make a run for it. They'll take the stairs to avoid being caught in the elevator and make a break for the first exit they can find. It should be easy enough. Aaron prays that, for once, luck is actually on his side.

Aaron motions for Marta to remain where she is. The last thing he needs is for her to be in this guy's line of fire and he knows having her hanging behind him will just serve as a distraction. He rounds the corner and points his gun in the direction he judges the other man to be. But there's nothing there but empty space. Aaron has a clear view of the door and the desk but no unwelcome visitor. Where the hell did he go?

Slowly, Aaron moves forward, checking each row of cabinets as he walks. Unfortunately, each place offers somewhere to hide. When he gets to the desk, bends down slightly to check the space underneath. Before he can stand up again someone jumps him from behind, sending him crashing head first into the solid piece of furniture. Aaron sees stars and the world spins for an instant. His gun clatters to the floor and the guard kicks it out of his reach before he delivers a kick to Aaron's ribs.

Aaron goes down, rolling away from the man. Whoever he is, he's not just some rent-a-cop on hourly wage. Aaron staggers to his feet, turning toward the uniformed officer. The man is lean and well-trained but he doesn't have the look of an operative. He's just a man who really knows his job and possesses just enough skill to make Aaron work for the win. If it was just himself, Aaron, would have enjoyed the slight challenge the man presented, but he had Marta to worry about.

The man reaches for his gun but Aaron grasps the man's wrist, twisting it painfully behind his back. The guard cries out in surprise and tries to shoves Aaron backward with his free hand. The weight of the backpack causes Aaron to stumble and he nearly lost his footing. The officer tries to force Aaron to the ground but lands a punch in the man's solar plexus and throws him onto the desk, sending the office supplies scattering.

Aaron clamps his hand tightly around the guard's throat and expects the fight to be over the instant the man realizes he is about to die but the other man kicks up his feet and knocks Aaron away with a booted foot. He is on Aaron almost impossibly fast and Aaron is starting to rethink his previous assumption about this guy not being an operative. Maybe they are dosing all their employees with chems these days.

The officer forces Aaron forward, shoving him against the wall and Aaron's head connects with the concrete wall and he sees stars once again. This time he feels a little bit like he might throw up and Aaron can feel the blood trickling down his forehead and can taste iron on his tongue. The man takes advantage of his disorientation by delivering a solid punch to his kidneys. Aaron groans, squeezing his eyes closed. How can this be happening? How has a security guard at a laboratory got the advantage over him? It is this thought that brings the mechanical responses of an asset to Aaron's movements and more swiftly than should have been possible he twists around and lands a punch in the guard's throat. Effectively cutting off his air supply in the moments before Aaron is grasping the sides of the man's head and twisting with just the right angle to sever the man's spinal cord between the third and fourth vertebra.

Aaron watches dispassionately as the security guard falls into a heap like a puppet with freshly cut strings. The tell-tale sound of a gun being limbered echoes through the room and a shaking voice demands, "Freeze, Oh, god…Stan?"

A second guard out of nowhere is standing between the shelves with a service revolver aimed directly at Aaron's center of mass. At this range and without Kevlar the bullet was going to leave a huge mess on the wall behind him. This time, Aaron knew he would not be able to stop the guard from firing. He watches the man willing him to move closer and give Aaron the chance to disarm him and neutralize him like he had his buddy. In his mind Aaron only vaguely registers that the weapon is going to be used against him because he is already trying to find a way to get Marta out of here is fails to disarm the frightened guard.

Aaron raises an eyebrow at the man and his aim falters for a moment as he realizes Aaron intends to dispatch him next. Aaron has decided that if he is going to die here then he is going to make it count. Vaulting over the desk and effectively putting himself directly in front of the man Aaron shoves the man's gun arm away. He is just about to twist the man's arm away from his body and land a vicious blow to his elbow snapping the joint in two places when he sees Marta.

Like a blur, she is suddenly throwing herself onto the officer's back, an animalistic cry escaping her lips as she jumps on him. Aaron wants to tell her to run, that he will handle this but it is all happening so fast. Marta has a pair of scissors in her hand and she brings them down on the soft skin of the man's throat and his scream quickly turns into a gurgle and dies out. Aaron can feel the heat of the man's blood on his skin and feels the officer going slack as both he and Marta drop to the floor.

Aaron looks down at the man; if he's not dead he's definitely going to be bleeding to death within the next several minutes. His eyes move to Marta, who is staring at the pair of bloody scissors in her hands with wide eyes. The man's blood is all over skin and her clothes and in her hair and Aaron's heart swells as he looks at her. This is his warrior woman, born in a moment of blood. It is the exact thing he hoped would never happen to her; he'd hoped to be able to protect her from this, to kill for her so she'd never have to know what it felt like, again. Now it's too late.

Aaron reaches for her, pulling Marta to her feet. The scissors clatter to the floor and Marta looks at him, surprised. Whatever primal urge that possessed her before is gone now. "Aaron…"

"It's okay Doc. You did well," Aaron assures her. He wishes they had more time, he wishes he could wipe the blood from her skin. Place gentle kisses over her and deliver her out of this moment but if they want to keep surviving, they need to run.

Aaron holds onto Marta's hand with one of his, stooping to pick up his gun with the other. "We need to go." His head is still throbbing but he can tell now it's just a surface wound. His body is sore too but he'll live. The adrenaline pumping through his system is already taking care of that.

They leave the room and Aaron yanks open the door to the stairwell just as the elevator doors start to slide open. He doesn't bother to count the flights of stairs as they run up, hoping that some instinct will guide them in the right direction. All Aaron can do is hope that this isn't the end that he and Marta don't die here in this building they fought so hard to escape from.

* * *

Jason reacts first, practically jumping out of his skin when the hotel room door bangs open and he has to quickly lower the weapon he holds aimed directly at Marta's head. He and Nicky are both at the table discussing the pros and cons, of the magic-bit of programing she has managed to implement. The sight of Aaron ushering Marta in the room, bloody and pale makes Nicky's heart skips a beat and she gets to her feet. She thinks she would like a life where her friends weren't constantly injured or killed.

"What happened," Jason questions, as he is moving toward them. His tone is all business, his mind ready to process the potential for threats. But there is a little something else there too, if Nicky's not mistaken…Maybe concern? "How bad is it," he notices that Aaron is bloody too and he can tell instantly that not all of it is from him.

Instead of answering, Aaron opens the bathroom door and ushers Marta inside, gently instructing her to strip and turn on the shower. He shuts the door softly behind her and turns to face Nicky and Jason. "It's not hers." He says and Nicky feels relief course through her body. "We had company."

Jason arches an eyebrow. "She killed someone," he asks seeming impressed, "She's a scientist."

Aaron gives him a look. "Not anymore."

It does not take much to convince Nicky and Jason to leave the room. Nicky can continue to pry into Byer's life from their hotel room and she knows if she were Marta that she would just want to be alone.

Once Aaron has locked the door behind Jason and Nicky, he pushes open the bathroom door and pokes his head inside to check on Marta's progress. He is not surprised to find her sitting underneath the steaming spray still wearing her clothes; he has been there before. The water has washed most of the blood off her skin and turned the blood on her clothes a pinkish color. It reminded him of their last night in Bangladesh, if things had gone horribly wrong.

Aaron climbs into the shower and sits beside her, gently reaching out to take her hand. She flinches briefly but then relaxes, leaning against him. They sit silently for a few moments and Aaron struggles to find the right thing to say to her. He wants to apologize; he wants to beg her to forgive him for turning her into this person. He wants to tell her how proud he is of her, how she probably saved both of their lives but he feels like that's not the right thing to say. Back when he was part of the program, killing another person to survive or help your team survive was the rule, not the exception. With Marta, Aaron doesn't know what the rules are.

"It's okay," Aaron says softly, turning his head to look at her, blinking water out of his eyes, "it's okay to feel this way after…" He trails off, unwilling to verbally finish that thought. They both know what happened; he doesn't need to put it into words.

"His name was Jerry," Marta murmurs looking down at her hands, which are nice and clean now, albeit a bit wrinkled from the water. She has killed two men now. Killing the LARX agent was somehow different than this, less personal. She didn't have his blood all over her and she had not known his name: had not talked to him on a daily basis for nearly four years. Marta closes her eyes and the images that play across her lids are of Aaron fighting for his life and losing ground.

"I'm sorry," he sighs stroking her cheek. "It feels different when it is someone you know."

"That's the problem," Marta says finally, opening her eyes again to look at Aaron. "I don't feel anything. I don't feel bad about killing Jerry because I couldn't let him hurt you. That was all I could think about. And I'd do it again." She takes a deep, shaky breath. "What kind of person does that make me?"

"The type of person that does what it takes." Aaron puts his arms around her and pulls her against his chest. "You're a force to be reckoned with, Marta Shearing; a warrior." He says against her damp hair.

"If—," Marta rests her head against his chest with a heavy sigh as she continues in a slightly desperate tone, "If I asked would you make love to me?" She feels safe here and whole and it's easy to remember who she is when Aaron has his arms around her. She would kill that man again to save Aaron and anyone else she has to. She wants to keep him safe and with her always or die trying. She's not the Marta Shearing she once was.

Aaron stills and he closes his eyes at her question. They have been so close, just skirting the edge of total intimacy and there really is nothing he would like better than to strip her bare and give them both pleasure. He is hard and aching for her with just a thought but as much as he wants her he knows this is not the time not the reason to make that next step in their relationship. Aaron lifts her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles and fingers and the palm of her hand. Marta closes her eyes again and leans into his touch; she understands his answer and it breaks her numb shell. She is sobbing, purging every pent up emotion she has ever suppressed, and clinging to him as the shower rains down on them. They stay this way until the water runs cold and Marta finally feels clean inside and out.

* * *

Saturdays are supposed to be quiet days. Byer likes to indulge in the weekend just like the rest of the country: shopping trips and lunches with the kids, church on Sundays, time with his wife. But now he has got to deal with this mess when he should be helping Bella pick out new shoes and explain to Gracie for the hundredth time why she can't wear a skirt that doesn't fall past her knees.

Byer looks down at the dead security officer, wrinkling his nose at the pool of blood congealing on the floor. There's a pair of scissors lying on the floor next to the body, which strikes him as odd because it doesn't seem like Cross's MO. Glancing to the guard next to the wall he can see the skill in that man's death, but this one just did not feel like a professional kill. But, in the heat of the moment, everything becomes a weapon and he knows that Cross is one lethal bastard just like Bourne. That thought made his already dark mood blacken further. He could well imagine the mayhem the two of them could get up to if they ever became acquainted.

"So they came after all," Byer muses aloud to Dita, thinking back to the story that had been relayed to him by the other officers when he first arrived in the room. The first thing he did was send them to write their reports. The smoking scientist was a real problem; she had been warned and he was very angry that she had not taken the warning seriously. She would not live to make the same mistake again. She and the guard that Cross and Shearing used to gain entrance to the building would both be casualties. After all Cross and Shearing had finally made an appearance and left behind a body count what would two more body's on their account matter. "But why come here? Did they honestly think we would be keeping hostages in the basement of a laboratory?"

"Mr. Byer," a voice calls from somewhere off to his right and Byer turns in the direction of the speaker, "you should see this." Byer walks over to where the man is standing. Several of the filing cabinet drawers are open and there are a few manila folders on the ground. Byer can see that most of the drawers are empty and a feeling of dread starts to spread through his stomach.

"Jesus, Mary and fucking Joseph!" He knows why they were here.

* * *

Jason has to admit that he was wrong, which is something that he does not like to do lightly. They were actually successful on both fronts. Nicky managed to dig up a dossier's worth of information about Byer and his shady corporate dealings while Aaron and Marta returned with several pounds worth of files that will be very helpful in the Congressional hearings. And none of them died. Things actually seem to be going well.

"Good job Nicky." Aaron says with a smile after Nicky hands over Byer's address and the rest of the information she managed to compile. "Feeling up to some recon bright and early tomorrow," he asks Jason, arching an eyebrow.

Jason shrugs, "Better than sitting around here."

There is a little voice in the back of his mind telling him that maybe…just maybe this whole plan might actually work. His freedom, honest and legitimate freedom, might actually be within his grasp. He's ready to stop sitting around and wait for it to come to him. He had asked nicely, he had told them bluntly and even killed more than one person to achieve it, but a normal life looked like it would be coming by way of Aaron Cross and his lady doctor. Jason planned to take his freedom and damn anyone in his way.

Aaron's eyes shift to Marta and Jason watches as she sorts through files and stacks them according to program name. She seems like she is handling the events of the morning well. He can see that Aaron is not so sure she is as fine as she appears because his eyes are shadowed with worries about what her. "While we're gone," Jason says, "You and Nicky can start going through the files and picking out the ones that we definitely want to make public."

Aaron agreed, "We'll take them all to the hearings but I think it would be a good idea to know what is in each of them, just so there are no surprises." Both Marta and Nicky nod. Sitting out the stake-out and first meeting with Byer is fine with both of them.

They spent hours separating the files and fine tuning the details for the trade they want to make with Byer. Marta uses a copy machine in the lobby to make two copies of three select pages. Then they took one of the least helpful files to their cause and placed the copies of the kill orders signed by the man in the front. In the morning Aaron and he would be making a delivery and just the thought made Jason smile.

It's hard for Aaron to believe that this could really be it, that they could burn down the program and not have to spend the rest of their lives on the run. He wants to take Marta to a beach somewhere far away from here and all of this. He wants to stretch her naked across white sand and watch her skin tan in the sun while he learns every thought in her mind, everything that she loves and the things she doesn't. He wants to finally be able to make love to her without the fear of being interrupted by someone who wants to kill them. He wants to have his lips on every inch of her body and spend the rest of his life learning her taste and feel. This has to work because that fantasy is too delicious to give up.

* * *

Most of D.C. is still sleeping when Jason and Aaron leave the hotel, leaving their respective companions still lost in dreamland. Aaron hated prying himself away from Marta but he wants to be comfortable with Byer's house and the surrounding area before Byer even wakes up in the morning.

Not surprisingly, Byer's home is smack in the middle of suburbia. The house couldn't look more American Dream if he'd tried. An American flag hangs in front of the wrap-around porch, complete with porch swing and the fenced-in backyard features a swing-set and plastic playhouse. Aaron thinks the only things missing are the dog and the white picket fence.

He and Jason take positions where it is easy to watch the house without being seen and as far as Aaron can tell, Byer does not have any kind of security detail to speak of and he is almost impressed by the man's smug nature. Does he think that his work is not capable of following him home? He has probably never gotten his hands dirty outside of the office and is confident in the fact that he can live both lives. Well, Aaron is more than happy to ruin that illusion.

The sun comes up, burning away the thin veil of fog that had settled over the streets. From his position, Aaron can see the house start to stir. He can see Byer's wife as she moves around in the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee and assessing the contents of the refrigerator. Aaron can see Byer's two children enter the kitchen, still dressed in PJs with sleep tangled hair. Unfortunately, he's not above using children as bargaining tools when absolutely necessary. He thinks of Marta. This is one of those absolutely necessary cases.

Byer and his family have scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and then the children are sent upstairs again. The plates and pans are tossed into the sink to be cleaned at a later time before Byer and his wife disappear into one of the rooms that Aaron can't see from his vantage point.

When the whole family is together again, they're all dressed in their Sunday best and Aaron almost rolls his eyes at the normalcy of the scene. The family piles into one of two cars registered in Byer's name and Aaron can't help but shake his head at the man. He didn't even seem to have the slightest inkling that he was being watched but not one but two operatives. This is going to be easier than he thought.

After Byer's car has been gone for a solid ten minutes, Jason and Aaron leave their hiding spaces and head for Byer's front door. In less than a minute, they're inside the house. Yes, this is going to be _much_ easier than he thought.

* * *

After church, Byer family tradition dictates that they head to a nearby diner for an early lunch consisting of chocolate chip pancakes, eggs and bacon before heading home. Byer's mind is still on the events of the previous day. He feels heavy with the knowledge that the program's private files are in the hands of Outcome 5 and his annoyingly resilient doctor. He has to hand it to Cross; the man has more brains than he had previously given him credit for. He had expected the man to go in, guns blazing, to try and grab back Shearing's sister. But instead he managed to infiltrate one of their facilities, kill two of their people, steal their property and get out again with barely five minutes worth of security camera footage to prove he was ever there at all. This situation could get out of his control and move sideways with even more devastating effect if he doesn't tighten the net, quickly. He won't let Cross get away again.

"Daddy," Bella says from the backseat as Byer pilots the car into the driveway, "can we go to the park? I want to play catch."

Byer smiles at her in the mirror. "Sure, that sounds like a great idea. Interested Gracie," he asks Grace and she rolls her eyes at him but doesn't immediately reject his offer. "What about you?" He looks at his wife, who agrees since it's such a nice day already.

Byer unlocks the door and holds it open for his family. "Okay, girls, go change." He instructs, sending his daughters hurrying upstairs.

He starts to undo his tie, heading toward the bedroom to put on something more comfortable. He passes his office and notices that the desk light is on, which strikes him as odd. He hasn't stepped foot in there all weekend and he didn't notice the light on when they left the house.

Byer steps into the office and instantly freezes. Outcome 5 is leaning against one of his bookshelves as causal as can be with one of their framed family photos in his hands. In a chair not far from Aaron Cross is Jason Bourne and Byer feels his whole body stiffen. That worst case scenario he had imagined yesterday playing out again in his mind, because the two assets act like they are old friends just dropping by for a chat.

Cross looks up and gives him a wide smile, "Hello, Ric."


	14. Chapter 14

**Fourteen **

"You have a lovely home" Aaron says, his voice amicable, and he is smiling as though he had actually been invited in. He indicates the photo in his hand, turning it so Byer can see his happy family; it is the one from their most recent Christmas card and everyone's smiles are wide and genuine, "And a lovely family, too."

Byer doesn't know how best to deal with this situation; his analytical mind never fathoming his work encroaching on his home. Schooling all reactions he lets his eyes trail from one man indolently leaning against his bookcase to the other negligently seated in the leather, wing-back chair before his desk. This is something his training never prepared him for and a part of him wants to turn and run screaming from the office; only stopping to grab his family and hop the next plane out of the country. But he knows Cross and Bourne would never let that happen they have been trained to give no quarter when in pursuit of a target and he knows running is not an option.

Byer swallows, trying to look unfazed by their presence. "How did you find me?" He questions, looking from Aaron to Jason and back again. He knows the hunt is on for Jason, but he finds Aaron much more dangerous. He has watched the man go from a stuttering moron to a predator. He read the man's reports; Cross has never failed or botched a mission. Even now, he has managed to stay two steps ahead and with an untrained woman in tow.

"You're asking the wrong question," Aaron shakes his head as if Byer is missing the obvious. With exaggerated care Aaron places the picture down on the desk. He gives Jason a small nod and the other agent gets up and walks around Byer, closing the office door.

Byer doesn't like being cut off from his only exit or having Jason Bourne standing at his back but he tries to look unruffled. He wishes he had a gun, a can of pepper spray or even a fucking letter opener— just something. But he is standing completely defenseless in his Sunday best. "What should I be asking," he thinks if he can keep them talking and preoccupied he might catch them off guard and get out of the office with a damned pulse. He just ignores the tiny whisper of a voice at the back of his brain that tells him he would be dead if he even tried.

"Well, I'm glad you asked," Aaron gives him a big grin and Byer wishes they had terminated Outcome 5 instead of sending him to cool his heels in Alaska, pun intended. Aaron steps toward Byer, though the desk is still in between them. "You should be asking how you can help us."

Scoffing, Byer, rolls his eyes. "Why would I want to help you? You broke into my house, you're wanted fugitives."

"I expected you to be smarter," Aaron arches an eyebrow. "But I suppose you are just a talking head in a suit."

Aaron quirked his lips and glanced around the rich cherry wood furnishings that had been highly polished before continuing in a inquisitive tone, "Do you really think you are completely innocent in all this? Do you think that just because you wear a suit and tie to work every day and only read reports about what goes on out there that your hands are clean? Sorry, to disillusion you but any blood on our hands," he gestured between him and Jason as he continued, "is all over your hands too, Byer. It would be interesting to see what a court might think."

Byer rolls his eyes at Aaron. It might not be the smartest move, but he's hoping to provoke the agent, rile him up and make him sloppy. Aaron always has been more hot-headed than the others; it was one of his only flaws. "You're going to be very disappointed if you think there's anyone who will take your word over mine."

Aaron tosses a handful of manila folders onto the desk between them and Byer looks down at the folders and then back at Aaron. He forces his face to remain impassive. "Homework," Byer questions.

"You can't bluff for shit, Byer." Aaron remarks. "I know you know what those are. You know the files are gone, dozens and dozens of forms with your pretty signature on them." Aaron nudges one forward in an off-handed fashion, "I'm not sure there is a court in the world that is going to agree with your choice to decimate a village that consisted mainly of unarmed women and children on the basis of a half-assed hunch. But hell maybe," Byer stares at Aaron eyes narrowed the man's tone becomes condescending, "Maybe you can give your Sin-Eater speech." The agent gestures toward the files. "The report is in there, if you need a refresher. I think you said that we are morally indefensible and absolutely necessary. I wonder if they will be as—mollified as I was by those rousing words?"

Byer drops his gaze to the folders and has to fight down the urge to grab them in his hands and start ripping up the pages. He is sure these are just copies and he would succeed in doing nothing but making himself look foolish. His anger is starting to mix with his fear, making him feel reckless and panicked. This is not good. This is pretty much the worst case scenario.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself Cross," Byer shifts his eyes calculatingly to Outcome 5's gaze and decides it is time to switch gears; try a different tactic. "While you two are here playing house, we have a team tracking your previous location right now. We've had eyes on you since you left the lab yesterday. And you have my word that when they find your Dr. Shearing that-"

But Aaron has heard enough, "I already told you that you can't bluff for shit, so just give up." He interrupts and Byer immediately falls silent, looking so much like a chastised little boy that Aaron has a hard time not laughing. "This is the man behind all those failed attempts to end our lives; no wonder the only people he has been able to," Aaron tells Jason using air quotes, "_capture_ is innocent, law abiding women."

"Cowardly," Jason murmured, "to go after the week to trap the superior."

"Superior," Byer sneered, "I made you; you would be nothing if you had not been weak enough to break!" Byer glared over his shoulder before turning on Aaron, "And you, you were the village idiot; you couldn't even tie your damned boots until science made you."

"That wasn't you, asshole." Aaron narrowed his gaze on the man, "that was a team full of scientists that you had murdered in cold blood when your world was threatened."

"Now look where that got you," Jason scoffed and he actually sounded amused. "All you had to do was let us alone."

"Did you think you have the right to just walk away from the program," Byer's voice was incredulous. "You gave yourself to the program we own you. You and everyone else involved."

"He doesn't get it," Aaron shook his head at the idea that this is the man who gave the order to burn down the program and continues to hunt him and Marta. He should have just showed up at the guy's house days ago and avoided all of this. "I would stop threatening Dr. Shearing."

"It makes him angry," Jason says from the door and there is a hint of a smirk on his face as he continues, "And you won't like him when he's angry."

Aaron smiles and shrugs as though to say _hey, what can you do_? "Trust him," He murmured gesturing to Jason with his chin, "He knows."

"So, is that what you came here to tell me; to not get on your bad side," Byer questions crossing his arms over his chest, posturing, trying to make it seem like he still has the upper hand in this situation, even though it's obvious that he's not following anyone.

"I think it is safe to say you are already on our bad side," Aaron replies. "We are here to tell you it doesn't have to get any more painful for you than it already is. So listen up: you have Dr. Shearing's sister and we have information you definitely don't want to end up in the wrong hands."

"I have a Presidential seal on everything I do," Byer scoffs, "Anything in those files endangers you and the rest of your band of misfits."

"How long will that seal last when the Commander in Chief finds out you signed off on murdering innocent American civilians and soldiers? Not to mention the foreign civilian nationals that you had erased because they might prove inconvenient; all to keep your shiny little nameplate." Aaron tipped the gold-plated placard over on Byer's desk. "This is the way it will go," Aaron folded his arms over his chest, "You release Dr. Shearing's sister—Alive— and we don't burn your pretty little house to the ground."

"Is that a threat," Byer asks, shifting in his spot.

Aaron chuckled and looked at Jason before turning back to Byer. "Now you're getting the picture. This can be simple you just give us Marta's sister, we give you the files and we all go our separate ways without airing your dirty laundry."

"No more hunting us," Jason moved across the room to stand close at Byer's back. "If I even think that you are up to your old tricks or if I catch a whiff of one of your new science experiments on my ass," Jason growled menacingly, "Well, I think you know what that will mean. That includes Cross and Dr. Shearing and her sister because if she even gets a hang nail in the near future you'll pay with your picture," Jason emphasized each word, "Perfect—Life!"

Aaron turns the photo of the happy family to face Byer and winks; this is a strategy that he and Jason hatched while they watched the family eating Sunday breakfast. Neither man has any real intent to harm Byer's innocent family; they have enough innocent blood on their hands. It is an effective bluff because Byer is cold, clinical in his reign as head of NRAG and threatening the family of the _enemy_ is something he would do in their position. Gemma Shearing was a perfect example.

"Anything else you clowns want," Byer demanded, but the strain on his voice and the way he swallowed belied his façade of calm.

"We might see it as an act of goodwill if you were to rescind the arrest warrants, but that might be too much of a strain on your heart. So, all we want is Gemma Shearing released alive with apologies for mistakenly arresting a clearly innocent woman. No hounds on our heels and when I say we I mean myself, Dr. Shearing, Nicky Parsons and Jason Bourne." Aaron ticked each off on his fingers as he spoke. "I mean that; no more hunting us, no more sending agents to kill us. Starting from the moment we make the exchange, you forget us. Hell, you can even pretend like we're already dead."

"If I don't play your game," Byer growled.

"If you break the rules," Jason sighed, dramatically, "I will take your family away from you one by one. You gave an order a little over a year ago that put a bullet in the head of the woman I loved and," the man shook his head moving back away from the Byer, "I would truly be disappointed in you if you forced me to return the favor, but you of all people know I am very good at what you people taught me."

"I have to agree with Bourne on that one," Aaron nodded his agreement; "we are both very good at what we do." He can tell by the way that Byer has paled slightly that he has got a mental image that he really doesn't want. "It doesn't have to come to that; neither Jason nor do I want it to go there, Ric. So, let's just keep it simple."

Byer purses his lips and looks from Aaron to Jason, as though trying to decide which one to reason with. He settles on Aaron, because he seems to be running the show. "I can't just walk a prisoner out the front door without someone asking questioning." He insists. "It's not going to be simple, Cross."

"Please," Aaron derides, "I am not the little lab rat running on your wheel, Ric. I am smarter than my file says asshole. The student has surpassed the teacher, so to speak. You seem secure enough to leave your family unprotected against cleansing; which tells me that if you do answer to someone it isn't someone you fear. So, being the man-in-charge just tell the grunt security detail that you are taking her out for ice cream."

"Do whatever you have to do to make this work," Jason agreed, "Or taking all of those flies straight to the congressional hearings will be the least painful thing you endure at our hands."

"And there are some very telling missions' reports in there," Aaron nodded, "Enough to get you at least a few consecutive life sentences if they don't see the acts you perpetrated on non-combatant American citizens like Marta Shearing, her sister and scientist as terrorist acts."

Byer opens his mouth ready to speak but before he can get a word out, there is a knock on the office door. All three heads turn in that direction. "Eric? Are you ready? Bella's already in the car," Abigail's voice on the other side of the door makes Byer's eyes widen.

Jason's hand is moving toward his gun, ready to respond if the door were to start opening. Byer watches him and wonders if he ordered the man to stand down, if his old training would kick in before he could think to question the order. Instead, he says, "Just a minute Abby. Why don't you and Grace go wait in the car too. I'll be out in a minute." He can hear his voice shaking and prays that his wife won't pick up on it. He really doesn't want this to go to hell in a hand basket before he can figure out how to get the upper hand.

There is a beat of silence before Abigail says, "Okay," and Byer breathes a sigh of relief.

"Get the picture yet, Ric," Aaron asks, arching an eyebrow. "Don't do this to your wife and kids. I'd hate to make them cry but I will take your family from you."

"I won't bother to tell you not to double cross us," Jason told the man, "I personally think you are too invested to care what might happen to your family."

"Jason is a glass is half-empty kind of guy," Aaron grinned, "Just let us alone to live our lives and free the poor woman."

"I can't free Gemma Shearing," Byer denied.

Aaron settles a fierce glare on him, "You are deliberately being a stubborn jackass." He growls at the man. "You're not going to be the hero, Ric. You're not going to bring us in; that will lead to nothing but blood and heartache. There is no scenario that ends up in your favor. Except for the one where you agree to make the trade and save your family."

"You should go for that one," Jason agrees. "It's the only way everyone gets what they want, but like I said I think you are incapable of leaving us alone."

For a moment, Byer is silent, contemplating. "So that's it? I bring you Shearing's sister and you bring the files and we all walk off into the sunset; that sounds too good to be true."

"It doesn't have to be I've always been a fan of happy endings." Aaron replies. "I always root for the underdogs."

"Is that what you think you two are," Byer asked incredulously, "The underdogs? You're both trained to kill. Your only skill set is to make people's last moments on this Earth a living nightmare. And you think you can just start over, have a perfect little life and work in an office? Please."

"We're looking to retire," Jason informs him frankly. "But so far the retirement plan has been shit; you seem like the guy who's going to make that change."

Aaron nods, "We want to help you out here too, Ric. Help you keep your family safe and keep those files under lock and key."

Byer scoffs and rolls his eyes, "And how do I know you're not just going to hand them over to the senate hearings once you have Shearing's sister."

Aaron shrugs, "I guess you'll just have to trust us to be more trustworthy than you have been, Ric." Byer glares but Aaron only smiles bigger as he declares, "I don't really see how you have much of a choice; we hold all the cards."

"And by cards he means files and an incredible set of skill we can use to destroy everything you hold dear. Don't make your family pay for your inability to accept defeat." Jason suggests, "Just so you know exactly where this stands.

"They deserve better," Aaron says as he picks up the photo looking at it one last time. "It would be sad if this is the last time they were truly happy. Man up and do what is right because if you double cross us—"

Aaron leaves the threat hanging but Jason just can't so he growls, "You better hope you kill us because we will invent a new level of pain for you to suffer."

"Don't hurt my family," Byer says with a slightly pleading tone; he knows this can only end one way and it makes him so angry that he has to pander to these fools. His chance to get the upper hand lies in making Outcome 5 and Jason Bourne believe that they really do, indeed, hold all of the cards. Looking as if he is defeated Byer finally puts up his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Fine! You want the sister, fine. You can have her. But I want every single one of those files. And not just copies of them."

Fair enough," Aaron nods in agreement, "But no tricks; so, whatever you're planning, whatever you think you can pull over on us, get it out of your head now. Step outside of our carefully drawn lines and that road leads to heartache and pain for your family."

Byer puts a faux-hurt look on his face. "You're hurting my feelings now, Cross."

"Oh, hell, Byer I didn't know you had feelings to be hurt," Jason snorts out a laugh.

"Remember: simple," Aaron ignores the exchange between the two men and outlines their terms. "You get the files. We get Gemma and we go our separate ways unmolested and if you double-cross us, if you bring anyone other than Dr. Shearing's sister to the exchange—then your family is forfeit the minute we escape."

"And you know how good we are at escaping," Jason reminded.

"Okay, I get it." Byer rolls his eyes as he mentally begins planning how and who he will utilize during their trade, "Just me and you and the doctor's sister. Are we done here?" Byer gives them an impatient look. "Or did you expect me just to walk right in and get her right now?"

"We thought about it but we don't trust you any farther than we could throw your dead body so, we'll call you with the time and place." Aaron informs him. "We have all your contact information, so don't worry, we'll be in touch."

Byer wonders if he could actually get away from these two, if he could get his family and just leave the country. Let Bourne and Cross become someone else's problem. But he knows he'd never even make it to the airport. He feels like an idiot for underestimating Outcome 5 and his trigger happy pal. And he does not like being made to feel like an idiot.

"I want you to keep your cool, okay, Ric?" Aaron continues, "When you leave to go spend time with your family, don't act like there's anything wrong. Just get in your car and drive away. You won't see us again until the exchange."

"Unless you force us to change the plan," Jason adds. "But then you probably won't see it coming if that is the case; we are not very flexible people."

Aaron nods, "If you even think about trying to find us before the exchange, we'll know. And we'll find you and your family will pay the price." They skated on the edge of the line of actually threatening to do physical harm to the innocent woman and her two daughters. Looking into the calculating eyes of Byer, Aaron wanted to shake his head at the gleam of deceit he saw there. It seemed to him Byer was willing to gamble against the house and it was sickening. Catching Jason's eye he conveyed his thoughts with a look. The tightening of Jason's jaw was all the indication that he understood.

Byer lies with a nod and assures the men that he won't do anything to deviate from the plan. "Can I go now," he asks.

"Yeah," Aaron nods, "Get the hell out of here." He wishes he could tell the man how sick just looking him in the face has made him. Instead, he just enjoys the way Byer grits his teeth at having to be dismissed from his own office. They watch him as he goes to meet his family, just like a good little boy.

"He's like a snake," Jason muttered.

"Yes," Aaron agrees, "Let's get the hell out of here before I do something that Byer regrets."

* * *

Abigail Byer has been married to her husband long enough to know when he is concealing something from her. She has always known that he has not been completely honest with her about his job and exactly what he does when he leaves the house each morning. She knows he works for the government in a homeland security type capacity but she also knows there is much more to it than that. She would almost think he was in the CIA, except for he has never come home with so much as a black eye or a bloody nose. Which pretty much rules out any type of espionage but there is something there, something more, something that has finally come too close to their perfect world and endangered her family.

She was always a curious person. It was one of the things that always got her into trouble when she was younger. It is the very trait that made her go looking for her husband when he never came to their room to change his Sunday clothes and it keeps her from listening to him when he tells her to wait for him in the car. She can hear something in his voice, the tension and barely concealed fear are there but it is the anger that throws her off guard.

So, she presses her ear to the door and listens to the conversation her husband has with the two other men in his office. She almost could not comprehend what she was hearing.

All these threats of violence didn't seem to fit in with her perfect life. But even if it didn't make sense to her, it still seemed simple to Abigail: all Ric had to do was give these men what they wanted and the problem would go away. They didn't seem like they were interested in making things more complicated than that.

Abigail was willing to give her husband the benefit of the doubt. She did not want to broach the subject with him in the hopes that he would tell her everything when they were away from the girls. It seemed like the sort of thing you should share with your wife. _Oh, you know honey, just keep an eye out because there are two guys out there who want to kill you and the girls, but don't worry; I've got it under control_. But he didn't mention it to her did not let on that there was anything wrong at all. But Abigail can see through his forced smiles and levity. And she's not impressed.

Later that night, after she has tucked Bella and Grace in and turned the lights out, Abigail heads downstairs with the intent to confront her husband about the conversation. She finds him in his office, the door slightly ajar, talking heatedly with someone on the phone. She stands in the hallway, not bothering to hide the fact that she's eavesdropping on the conversation.

"I have no idea how they found that out. Christ, does it really matter? They were here, in my house." Ric is saying, pacing back and forth as he talks. "They're going to set the time and place for the meeting. It's the perfect opportunity; they're walking right into our hands," Ric smiles as he talks into the phone and Abigail is not sure how to feel about his words. She does not recognize this man; he is a stranger. It seemed to her like there was pretty much only one rule for setting up this little exchange: don't do any double-crossing or your family gets killed. It seems to her like her husband does not care about breaking that very important ultimatum.

"As soon as I hear from Cross," Ric says, "I want a team in place. Have Gamble on call I want him up high enough to give him a clear shot of the area. I will get the files back and I want them all eliminated; tell him to start with the sister. If they do get away from us I want that asshole to have to go back to Dr. Shearing and tell her that her sister is dead. Maybe she will do us a favor and kill him," Ric continues.

He's silent as the person on the other end of the line contributes to the conversation. "Oh, who cares about the doctor? She'll slip up as soon as Cross is out of the picture. Getting her will be like shooting fish in a barrel. If we're really lucky, he'll bring her along and we'll just take her out too." Another pause and Abigail wishes she could hear both sides of the conversation; even though hearing one side of it has made her sick to her stomach. "I think you're being pessimistic about this, Vosen. Cross and Bourne are handing themselves over to us on a silver platter. We get both of them at once and we can finally move past this whole Treadstone mess; all of our problems are over. I told you grabbing the sister would pay off." Ric rolls his eyes at whatever the other speaker is saying. "Yeah, well, I guess we'll see."

Ric hangs up the phone and turns around; his face falls when he sees Abigail standing there and his guilty look annoys her. She crosses her arms over her chest. "Something you'd like to share?"

"Just work stuff, honey," Ric gives her a smile that does nothing to placate her, "There is nothing to worry about."

Abigail narrows her eyes, "Nothing to worry about," She repeats. "So I shouldn't be worried about the two strange men that were in our home earlier today, threatening to kill my children? That's nothing to worry about?"

Ric doesn't bother to hide the surprised look on his face. "How…?"

"The door isn't sound-proof, Ric." Abigail informs him frankly. She steps into the office. "Who were those men from earlier? How did they get inside?" She does not like not feeling safe in her own home. She does not like the idea that anyone could come in at any time and hurt her daughters. And she especially does not like that Ric is playing fast and loose with their children's safety.

"It doesn't matter," Ric responds. "I'm taking care of it."

"Is that you're idea of taking care of it!" Abigail gestures toward the phone. "You're planning on doing the one thing they told you not to do. You're putting our family in danger!"

Ric shakes his head, "Don't be dramatic, Abby." She wants to slap him for trying to infer that she is being irrational but she refrains. She has been married to him long enough to know he will only use an emotional or physical response from her as proof positive that she is irrational. Besides she wants to hear him out. "They might have gotten the jump on me today but that's not going to happen again."

Abigail shakes her head, "I can't believe you're willing to take that chance. I can't believe you'd put the girls in danger like that! That you'd put me in danger! Why can't you just do what they say?"

"It doesn't work that way," Ric shouts at her and that is all it takes to convince her that he is not as sure of this choice as he is trying to pretend. "If I do that, then they win."

"So you're willing to put all of our lives in danger to keep your pride intact?" Abigail purses her lips, taking a deep breath, "That doesn't sound like the man I married."

"Well, sorry to disappoint, but I've been making these types of hard decisions a lot longer than we've been married. You don't know the whole story, Abigail. You need to just let me do my job." He moves to leave the office but Abigail stands in his way.

"I don't need to know the whole story. I know my daughters are in danger and that is enough for me. I thought that would be enough for you too." Abigail retorts. "What's to stop them from coming back and grabbing Bella or Gracie when they're at the bus stop or at school?" The thought of her daughters being in immediate danger is enough to make her want to dissolve into tears. But she refuses to give into that fear at the moment.

Ric shakes his head. "That won't happen. I'll keep them safe."

Abigail raises an eyebrow, "Oh, like you kept them safe today?" He narrows his eyes at her. "You didn't keep those men from coming in here today. How are you going to stop them?" Ric doesn't respond and Abigail presses on. "You need to call whoever that was back and tell them the whole thing is off. Just do what they said, Ric. _Please_, for us."

For a moment, Ric stares at her and Abigail thinks he might be willing to listen to reason, that he understands how serious the stakes are. But then he just shakes his head and the moment is over. "This is our opportunity, Abby. I have to close the net."

When Ric tries to walk past her again, Abigail lets him go. There's no reason to continue the conversation, he's said enough.

* * *

"I just don't trust him it seems too good to be true," Marta says into the dark of the hotel room. She's been trying to will-herself to sleep for the past two hours, but sleep just won't come. She knows Aaron is still awake as well; she knows the way his breathing changes when he finally drifts off and the way his body relaxes when he's finally able to put the stress of the day out of his mind. He's curled around her, tense and Marta can practically hear the wheels in his head turning.

They haven't talked much about the upcoming meeting with Byer, aside from the basics. Jason and Aaron summarized their encounter like they were giving a briefing after a mission and after that, there wasn't much else to say. Both men are giving the impression that the exchange will take place without a hitch and Marta wishes that she could be as optimistic as they seem. But her glass-half-full personality has pretty much dried up recently.

"He knows we've got him in a corner," Aaron replies. He doesn't seem to find it strange that she knew he was awake. "Hopefully he'll stop playing hardball and just make the trade."

"Hopefully," Marta repeats, rolling over so they're face to face. "What happened to all your confidence?" She's teasing him, he can tell by the little smile on her face. Her features are barely visible in the dark but he feels like she is easy to read anyway. He feels like he could just stare at her for hours and be completely mesmerized. He's looking forward to actually being able to take his time and just be with her.

"He'll make the trade," Aaron tells her. "We'll get your sister back, Doc."

Marta tries to wrap her head around the idea of having Gemma back, of knowing that her sister is safe and sound. "It's hard to believe that this is all going to be over," She admits.

Aaron nods, "We'll set up the hand-off tomorrow, let Byer know that we mean business. Then we can just put this all behind us."

For a moment, Marta is silent and Aaron searches her eyes, trying to discern what she's thinking. Instead of seeing joy and relief there, he sees fear and hesitance. Not exactly what he was expecting, given the fact that they're about to walk away from all this with their mission accomplished. "It's okay," Aaron says softly, putting his arms around her once more, "We'll get her back."

"I'm not just worried about Gemma," Marta tells him, "I'm worried about you. Anything could go wrong. Byer might be willing to take the chance and just kill you."

"He won't," But Aaron knows his is a false confidence. He knows the possibility of Byer betraying them is very real, "We have to think positive."

Marta snuggles against him, pressing her face against his chest, "I will once we're far away from D.C."

"Soon," Aaron kisses the top of her head, "Soon, Doc. I promise."


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: **Sorry for the delay…I take full responsibility for not posting sooner. Jack E Peace got her part to me days ago but I have been working like a mad-woman and not writing. I apologize for only posting a little bitty chapter, but I have been feeling so guilty for not getting something to y'all yet. So, a teaser of sorts…

**Fifteen **

Marta is sitting on the bed beside him, surrounded by the files that she's supposed to be packing up in the newly purchased khaki duffle bag, but instead she is leafing through one thick folder. "I wish we had more time to read through all these. There's some fascinating stuff here." She mutters, almost to herself, her analytical mind at work. Marta picks up another file and hands it to Aaron without looking at him. "You should read through that one. Some of the stuff that the program was working on…it's groundbreaking."

Aaron arches an eyebrow and gives her a look. "Groundbreaking?" He repeats.

"And completely immoral, of course," Marta adds quickly. "The chromosome alterations that we were doing were just the beginning. Even the genetic alternations they were doing to the LARX agents were just the tip of the ice burg. Some of the files talk about cloning and…it's—it is just endless."

Aaron hands the file back to her and gets to his feet. "Well, hopefully the Committee will be appropriately appalled." He remarks.

Marta looks up at him with a frown. "I'm appalled," she protests, sliding off the bed as well and moving toward him, "I want to bring them down just as much as you do."

"Sure you don't want more time with your files," Aaron questions. He's trying to brush off Marta's words, to remind himself that she is a scientist at heart and he can't fault her for that. But maybe that's just an excuse, a reason to skirt the issue so they don't have another blow-out like they did in Vietnam.

"Aaron, are we really going to fight about this," Marta questions, her eyes searching his, trying to decipher the thoughts going through his mind. "I'm sorry that I can't just turn my brain off. I am sorry that the information in these files is both appalling and fascinating to me, but this is what I dedicated my whole life to until Byre turned my life upside down and I can't change that."

"I think you would happily go back to the way things were," Aaron watches her with intense eyes before cocking his head sideways, "Would you jump at the chance to go back to your lab."

"Do I miss the lab," she asks and she doesn't mean to raise her voice but he has poked at her one gaping, infected wound, "Yes," she nods breathless, "Because it was a place I felt safe. Until Foite it was the only place no one had ever tried to hurt me…Couldn't hurt me! Would I go back there now with everything I know?" She felt tears fill her eyes and drop off her lashes onto her angrily blushing cheeks. "No, I would not go back there. You know how I feel…the guilt…I can't change what I've already done…" She doesn't mean for her voice to grow thick with emotion, for the pressure of it all to make it hard to speak. "It was my life."

Immediately, Aaron pulls her to him, holding her close to his chest. If anyone can understand guilt, it's him. "Doc," he says softly against her temple. He loves being able to hold her and touch her whenever he wants. He thought about it all the time when she was just his doctor. She was just another thing he'd never get: a home, a family, Dr. Marta Shearing. Now he has all three.

"I'm sorry," Marta whispers against his chest. And she is. Sorry for all of it. She wishes that she could apologize to the other men and women in the program that she poked and prodded and analyzed. But it's too late for that.

"No, I'm sorry, Doc. I didn't mean to start an argument," Aaron assures her. "We're going to get your sister back and make sure everyone sees these files and take these bastards down." He lifts her chin so she's looking up at him. "And then we're going to go somewhere far, far away from all this."

Marta smiles at him and murmurs, "I like the sound of that."

Nicky steps out of the bathroom, dressed in an _I Heart D.C._ shirt courtesy of the gift shop and her freshly cleaned jeans, toweling her hair dry. It's finally starting to lighten again, the inky black color fading away. She used up more than her fair share of hotel shampoo in order to get it as light as it was in Madrid. She's starting to feel more like herself again, though she doesn't really know what that means. Who is Nicky Parsons now? Her former bosses want her dead; her family has already buried her. The only person who can possibly answer that question refuses to acknowledge that he remembers her at all. Nicky Parsons is a ghost.

Jason is sitting at the table by the window, taking his gun apart and reassembling it with rapid speed. Nicky used to love to watch him do this; she loved his focus, his assurance, the way that his hands moved so confidently. She could watch his hands for hours. It always turned out to be great foreplay.

Nicky still watches him, but her focus is on his face instead of his hands. Now his eyes are cold, emotionless, his face stoic. The gun in his hands is the only thing that matters. It was always hard for her watching him switch off Davie and become this stoic impenetrable man.

Jason pauses, glancing in her direction and setting the gun aside. "Your hair is getting lighter," he says just before the silence grows uncomfortable.

"I can always dye it again," Nicky she sighs, even though she would rather shave her head than look in the mirror with dark hair like Marie Kurtz had when she seduced Jason. "You know to stay anonymous."

"Don't," Jason says, "I like it light. It suits you."

Nicky smiles, feeling the knot in her chest start to uncoil slightly. It's sad that that's one of the nicest things he's said to her in a while, but she'll take it.

Jason goes back to disassembling and reassembling his firearm and Nicky tosses her towel onto the foot of the bed. She picks up the backpack that Marta gave to her the night before and puts her few belongings inside. There aren't much, a few extra shirts and a pair of sweatpants. The bag still looks empty. This is her life now: an empty backpack and an old friend ruined by ambition.

"It's hard to believe that after tonight all this will be over." Nicky says, just because she's tired of the silence between them and she just wants to talk to him the way that they used to. She never had to think about what she was going to say and how he would respond. It used to be easy. Now she doesn't know what easy is.

Jason scoffs slightly. "I'm not sure it will ever be over," he admits. "But things seem to be going well so far." His tone is grudging, like he doesn't want to admit that Aaron's plan is actually working.

"Do you think that this Byer guy is actually going to show up alone? Do you think he's going to do what you tell him to do," Nicky questions. She hasn't wanted to admit, even to herself, that she has a bad feeling about all of this. Something is going to go wrong. Something always goes wrong.

"Neither one of us have any illusions about the Byre asshole," Jason mutters, "That is what this is for." Jason holds up the gun, sliding the clip in place. "Few men are a problem after you put a bullet between their eyes." That's what they should have done to Byer yesterday: shot him and went in to get Marta's sister. Even though Aaron's plan is running smoothly so far, there's too many steps to it, too many places where things can go horribly wrong.

Nicky isn't surprised by his cold detachment. She wonders if she should be, if the way that he talks about killing should bother her. It seems like a pointless thing to worry about now. "If it does work…if we do get away…where would you go? If you could go anywhere," she asks, trying to turn the conversation back toward something lighter.

Jason thinks for a moment. He's been almost everywhere, moving from country to country and city to city hunting and killing or hiding and planning. He's never been anywhere just for the sake of being there. "Somewhere far away," he finally answers with a quietly serious voice, "Where I can just be alone."

"Alone," Nicky murmurs with a slight smile that doesn't reach her eyes which are shining with the gleam of unshed tears. Pursing her lips Nicky looks down at her backpack so Jason won't see the emotions that flit across her face. She knows that she brings this upon herself; every time she sets herself up to a fall. Did she honestly think that Jason was going to stick around once all of this was over? He tolerates her at best. Did she think that they were finally going to get to ride off into the sunset together? What a fool; that role has already been taken on by Aaron and Marta. She needs to get it through her head that Jason isn't the happy ending for her.

"We should go," Nicky says, though she still doesn't look up at him when she speaks. "We're supposed to meet Aaron and Marta in five minutes."

Jason gets to his feet, tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans. He knows exactly what he said that has caused this reaction in Nicky but he can't bring himself to correct his words. To tell her that he is not entirely opposed to the idea of being alone with her; that being with her these last few days has been oddly comforting. That scares him.

So, instead he just grabs his bag and heads toward the door. It is better if she stays upset with him, it is better if she can put their past history behind her; it will be safer for her that way. He has watched someone he cared about die and he won't watch her die. No he will never watch someone else that he loves die in his place. He survives, time-after-time, and he gets the job done coldly, cleanly. And that's the thing that people don't seem to understand about him, the thing that Nicky seems content to ignore. The only thing he has consistently been good at is killing, whether he means to or not. He won't be the end of her, even if it means hurting her in other ways. It's the only thing he can give her.

They leave the hotel without bothering to check out and split off, one by one, blending into the crush of tourists and locals until they are each just another face in the crowd. The place they are heading is one of the Civil War sights that have recently closed for maintenance and are off the beaten path. Finding a small subcompact vehicle Aaron meets Marta at the drugstore three blocks from the hotel and together they make the drive out to Appomattox, Virginia. They are arriving early in the day so that Aaron and Jason can ensure they keep control of the area.

Jason and Nicky are taking an alternate route because they plan to meet up with a slightly shady purveyor of fine assault weaponry. Using a hacker alias Nicky was able to get her hands on a military sniper rifle with an experimental mechanized mount that the man claims allows a shooter to aim and fire using a laptop and an xbox controller. Entering the warehouse Jason takes not of the exits and the less than scrupulous surroundings.

"Tha' 'ill be far enough," a man called from the shadows with a heavy Irish accent.

"I'm looking for Patty," Nicky murmured taking one more step into the center of the room. Jason grasped her shoulder, but she ducked underneath it and took another step just to show him she was not afraid. "I'm Forgotten you're expecting me."

"You," the voice acknowledged, "Yes, but not him. 'Is face is a little too well known if you get my drift."

"You sell black market weapons," Jason scoffed, "And you are afraid people might recognize my face?"

"Think of how high you can raise the prices just by being the one arms dealer that has personally sold a CheyTac and your First Person Shooter rig to Jason Bourne," Nicky tempted.

"There is that," Patty agreed as he stepped out of the shadows and tipped his fedora with a wink at Nicky. "You have me pot o' gold?"

"We haven't decided to buy yet," Jason muttered moving between the arms dealer and Nicky. "I want to see that mechanized targeting system work first."

"Oh, ye, of little faith," Patty laughed. He gestured them to follow him and he led them into another room that looked like an indoor shooting range. In the middle of the room a CheyTac M-200 was mounted on the computerized firing mechanism. "The controls are up there," he gestured to a small loft and then across the room to a watermelon held firm in a clamp as he added, "Have a go."

Jason walked over to the table upon which the Intervention sat and studied the set up as well as the weapon itself. Turning to Nicky he nodded. She smiled and shook her head as he watched her climb the stairs to the controls and soon she was testing the sensitivity of the machines controls. It was odd at first watching the computer screen and seeing through the specialized scope. It took her several tries to get the hang of it but soon she was able to get the sights set on the center of the watermelon.

"Go ahead, Nick," Jason called up the stairs and she felt an odd clutch in her chest that had nothing to do with the loud report from the rifle as she obliterated the watermelon. "Impressive shot," he called as he and Patty came up the stairs. "We'll take it, but only if you can get us a suppressor for the rifle."

"Easy-Peasy," Patty replied, "And might I interest you in some high quality ammunit—

"We only need a full clip," Nicky interrupted. "That is seven, right, plus one in the chamber?"

"Correct," Patty agreed.

It took Jason fifteen minutes to talk patty around to a price that they could all agree on and then he and Nicky were on their way to Appomattox Court House National Cemetery.


	16. Chapter 16

**SIXTEEN**

Aaron and Marta tour the site while waiting to meet back up with Nicky and Jason at the Old Appomattox Courthouse a stately brick building that was roughly 800 feet from the parking lot they plan to use as a meeting place. That is a building they will have to have eyes on. He and Jason both agreed upon seeing it that the building would be the one that Byer chose to station a sniper in if he decided to play it stupid and double-cross them. The two-story brick structure is one of the tallest buildings away from the population center and therefore the higher ground.

Both he and Jason agree, shocking Nicky and Marta, that if they were planning to set up a sniper blind the brick structure would not be the building they chose. It was too obvious; instead, they led the women around the different structures before stopping in front of a colonial style clapboard structure that boasted being the place where Lee's Army fired its last shot. Unlike the commanding officer of the Confederate forces neither he nor Jason planned to surrender to Byer there.

"Okay," Nicky commented when both Aaron and Jason looked at the two-story house, looked back at the courthouse and then turned to each other with shit-eating grins. "Now you're both starting to scare me."

"Yes," Marta agreed, "I think we liked you both better when the only thing you could agree on is that you don't agree."

Both men turned to their half of the comedy duo and arched a brow which garnered a barked laugh from Nicky when Jason gave her a wounded puppy look he perfected when he was twelve. "What," she asked, "It isn't our fault that you two have turned into the Stepford Assassins."

"There is nothing sinister about our agreeing that this is the place for your experimental sniper set up; obviously, Jason is of superior intelligence." Aaron laughed as he took a few running steps toward the museum and using the small covered porch and his momentum he scaled the side of the building. "I think," he walked the ridgepole of the roof with his eyes off in the distance. "Hell it is like Christmas has come early," he laughed pointing toward the courthouse and parking lot, "We have a great view of the area from here. The CheyTac set up right her in the center of the ridgepole will give Nicky a ninety degree range of motion that covers the trees to the south-east of the parking lot, the parking lot and the area between Peer's House and the courthouse."

"Come on," Jason called, "Let's get the command center set up so we can get over here and get the gun mounted."

Once Aaron was back on terra firma they loaded back into their cars and headed toward the more populated area to the south-west. The motel they end up in is not the type of place that Marta really wants to in stay for long, but it still beats the places she saw overseas because at least there is air conditioning and running water, even if it isn't the only thing running in the room he chooses. Aaron feels like she has been an extremely good sport about the new accommodations. The building looks like it is one step away from being condemned and torn down and it probably won't survive the next land developer that comes through trying to buy up property. Each room has a door that leads directly to the outside and the asphalt of the parking lot is cracked from years of use and lack of repairs. There are only three other cars in the parking lot.

The area is mostly rural except for the few wanna-be-tourist traps that dot the landscape in the immediate area around the historic cemetery and the museum. But the motel he chooses to make home base is west of the parking lot where the hand-off is set to take place and if all goes according to plan they won't even be staying the night. The room he picks has a great view of the Richmond Highway and the mobile home and RV Park on the other side. They just need a place to lie low until they have Gemma.

They don't even rent the room; Aaron just picks the lock and they all file in. There is only one bed and half the lights are burned out and he can tell Marta doesn't even feel comfortable taking off her shoes. It is far from ideal as a place to sleep, but she does not complain.

Even Jason gives the stained bedspread a dubious look. "You know what I miss? Five star hotels," he mutters.

Aaron laughs slightly. He knows the feeling. "Well that can be your first order of business when all of this is over."

"You can find a five star hotel and park yourself by the pool and get one of those drinks with the little umbrellas in it." Nicky adds, smiling at the mental image of Jason relaxing amongst families on vacations and other people living their normal lives.

"I do love those little umbrellas." Jason concedes and the little smile on his face is just for her.

"Okay," Aaron claps his hands as he hands out assignments, "Jason and I are going to the site to set up Nicky's FPS and the micro-cameras. Nicky get things set up on your end here and Marta we still need the vehicles for the raid if this plan doesn't come together. It should take us about an hour, maybe two, on our end before we are ready to make the call." The mood in the room turns less jovial as the few hours they have left to get ready for the exchange becomes apparent.

The digital clock on the bedside table reads half past six and Marta steps away from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place. "I think the coast is clear," she remarks. "I haven't seen anyone in the front office for almost an hour." After seeing the state that the motel is in, it doesn't surprise her that management is less than present.

Aaron snaps the clip of his gun in place just to hear the satisfying snap and then tucks the weapon into the waistband of his jeans. He picks up the backpack they've loaded with copies of the files that still sit safely in the khaki bag beside Marta and slings it over his shoulder. Aaron glances toward Jason, who's been sitting in the singular chair in the room for the past twenty minutes in silence. "Ready?"

Jason looks in his direction. "Yeah…Let's go get shot," he mutters, getting to his feet. He picks up his own gun and extra ammunition and hopes that the luck that's kept him alive for this long will continue to be on his side. Because he's going to be really pissed if he finally gets killed doing something he said was stupid from the beginning.

"Way to think positive." Aaron mutters, glaring at Jason's back as he opens the door.

"What can I say, Cross? Life has made me somewhat of a pessimist." Jason steps outside, pulling the door shut behind him.

Aaron looks back at Marta. "We're not going to get shot." He says trying to alleviate the tension he sees in her body.

"That's not in the plan, if I remember correctly." Marta agrees. She steps toward him and pulls him into a hug, never wanting to let go. At least here, he's safe. Here, they're together. When he steps out that door, both of those things will change. "Be safe." She whispers.

Aaron kisses the top of her head. "Don't worry Doc." He moves away from her, even though he really doesn't want to. All his life he's done what's necessary without a second thought. He's followed orders like a good little dog. Now he just wants someone else to do all the heavy lifting so he can take a break. But there is no one else. "I'll get your sister back."

"We still haven't fixed the bugs with the FPS," Nicky sighed, "I think it is the distance. I am going to have to be on-site if this piece of garbage is going to work."

"No," Jason's denial was emphatic as he turned toward the door. "You stay here if it doesn't work it doesn't work."

"Like hell," Nicky moved to intercept him and stood with her hands on her hips as she faced him down. "I will not allow you to walk into a possible ambush without cover."

"You have no say in this, Nicky." He growled.

"You aren't calling the shots here Jason," she countered, poking him in the chest. "My opinion may not count with you, Lord knows nothing else does, but I am going to be at that house covering your sorry ass. So get over it." Grabbing the laptop and her bag she turned on her heel. "I'll be at Peer's House." Nicky pulls open the door and Jason slams it shut with one hand flat on the wood and the other hand over her shoulder.

"No! Nick," he growls, "you stay here." And he is so close she wants to press backward into his familiar heat, but she knows that he is aware of her desire to be close to him like they used to be. He is using her feelings to try and win this fight; it pisses her off because she would do anything, give anything for him to actually give a damn. Straightening her spine Nicky turns her head to meet Jason's eyes.

"You made your position perfectly clear, Jason." She informs him quietly with as little emotion as she can, "And I respect that so do me the same courtesy. You have no hold on me and you know I need to be on-site so let me go."

Pulling the door open and ducking out from under Jason's hand Nicky left without a backward glance leaving Jason alone with the other couple.

Sighing Jason watches as Nicky crosses the highway and then cuts through the RV Park. He steps outside feeling like a third-wheel as Aaron turns back to look at Marta, with a curious expression on his face. She stopped him as he tried to step through the door.

There seems to be so much she wants to tell Aaron, but all she manages is, "Come back to me."

Aaron takes her hand and kisses her knuckles, "Always."

Aaron forces himself to leave the motel room and join Jason outside. The man gives him an impatient look that the other agent pointedly ignores. "You didn't exactly say goodbye to Nicky," Aaron states, just because he knows the prying will annoy Jason. And annoying Jason has quickly become one of his favorite pastimes, despite the fact that they were getting along earlier, because Jason just makes it so easy.

"I thought I'd leave the completely pathetic goodbyes to you and Marta," Jason retorts. "You did remember to get your balls back from her, right? Because I think you're going to need them."

"I don't think I am the one that had his balls handed to him," Aaron smirks, rolling his eyes at the other agent. "But it is good to know you still have a sense of humor under all that testosterone."

The parking lot isn't far from the motel, so they start walking but Jason leads them around the RV Park with a muttered, "Nick went that way."

Being on foot will make it easier for them to approach Byer without being detected and will give the ability to get a feel for their surroundings and ensure that Byer has held up his end of the bargain.

Aaron called Byer when they were tucked away in the trees south of the parking lot to set up the exchange, but he kept the conversation brief so Byer didn't get any ideas about trying to trace the call. Even though he is safely at the meet site he doesn't want Byer to know that he has had time to prepare the site so, just to be on the safe side he gives him only the necessary information.

"This is Ric Byer," the man answered after the third ring and it made Aaron smile. Byer was doing everything he could to assert his control over this situation and frankly it was amusing.

"Appomattox Courthouse Cemetery," Aaron informed the man curtly, "Parking lot at ten tonight. Remember just you and Gemma Shearing or you'll be getting used to life, in that big house of yours, alone."

"That is less than four ho—," Byer tries to argue.

"Think about your family," Aaron interrupts with a clearly implied threat before ending the conversation and disconnecting the call. He pulls the battery and SIM card out of the phone, cracking the phone in half.

"Okay," Aaron says as he looks around the area and meets Jason's pensive face. "That gives us three hours and forty-nine minutes if he drives the whole distance. But I would bet my ass he is going to call in a team and they can be here in less than thirty minutes if they hop on a chopper."

* * *

Gemma doesn't even lift her head when she hears the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway. She's lost track of the number of days she's been in this cell, though it feels like an eternity. She's not sure how long it's been since Nicky was dragged out and she's starting to think that the other woman was just a figment of her imagination. Her head is fuzzy from lack of food, water and sleep and she's starting to get the suspicion that she's just going to be left here to die.

The sound of the footsteps make Gemma wonder if maybe her death isn't going to be a slow and drawn out as she had previously thought. Hopefully they'll just shoot her and get it over with. She doesn't want to be left here with her thoughts anymore, just waiting to die.

The door slides open and Gemma cracks one eye open to see who's paying her a visit. It's Byer and he looks just as smug and self-assured as always. She wishes she had the strength to strangle him with his silk tie.

"You don't seem very happy to see me." Byer remarks. He doesn't bother to kneel or get down on her level, preferring to lord above her as though she needed another reminder that he was the one in charge. As though spending days on end, locked in a dank cell without even basic human rights wasn't reminder enough. "I wonder if your sister will be any happier."

Gemma looks up at him, her head spinning slightly from the sudden movement. She can't remember the last time she had something to eat; unfortunately she's had a lot of time to think about how it would feel to starve to death. "What are you talking about? Where's my sister?" She questions, trying to add an edge to her voice. Thinking about Byer finally getting his hands on Marta makes Gemma feel pissed off about something other than dying in this dark room. It almost makes her strong enough to want to stand up and protect her little sister, even though she knows there's nothing she can do. She doesn't have the strength to do anything but kill Byer over and over again in her mind.

"You'll be happy to know, Miss Shearing, that all of this was worth it. Everything you've gone through has been worth it." Byer assures her and Gemma's brow knits in confusion. "I'd hoped your plight would bring your sister and Aaron Cross right to my doorstep and it did. You should be pleased at your sister's devotion."

Gemma understands now that Byer knew all along that she didn't know anything about Marta's whereabouts. It was never about using her to find out where Marta was hiding, it was about using her to bring Marta straight to him. The thought of her sister coming to her rescue is eclipsed by the fear of what's going to happen to Marta once she does. Gemma doesn't like being the bait in this man's trap.

"Why can't you just leave her alone?" Gemma whispers, looking at Byer with entreating eyes that she knows he's just going to ignore. "She didn't do the things that you say she did. Why do you want her so badly?"

Byer takes a step toward her, "Because I don't like loose ends, Miss Shearing. I don't like getting my hands dirty. And I definitely don't like people knowing my business. Unfortunately, your sister is one giant loose end that I intend to snip." He informs her frankly. "If your sister had just died like she was supposed to, then you wouldn't be here at all."

"Well, what can I say? We Shearings' are a pretty resilient." Gemma doesn't feel resilient right now, but she hopes that maybe if she puts on a good show that she'll start to believe.

Byer shakes his head. "Not anymore." He informs her. "Your sister is going to die for you. And you're going to die here in this cell and no one will ever miss either of you."

Gemma meets his gaze, unflinching. "You're a monster."

"I do what I have to in order to protect this country." Byer snaps, "If that makes me a monster, then fine. But you're not going to keep me from sleeping at night."

Byer turns to go and Gemma closes her eyes as she listens to the fading sounds of his footsteps. She tries to imagine herself somewhere far away from this place, somewhere safe and sunny and just different from this hell that she's in now. She tries to conjure up some of that sister ESP that everyone seems convinced exists between siblings in order to warn Marta to stay away, to leave her behind and save herself. But she knows it's a lost cause. Not only because she doesn't believe in ESP, but because Marta could never just abandon her.

* * *

"Nicky's a nice girl," Aaron remarks after they've been walking in silence for a few minutes. Jason ignores him, his gaze fixed pointedly ahead. "You know she has feelings for you."

"It's not my problem how Nicky feels." Jason retorts. "She knows better."

"Yeah," Aaron shakes his head, "You know you don't have to do this to yourself. You don't have to cut everyone out. We're already different enough from everyone else, why turn away the few people who actually know what it's like?"

"Because Nicky _doesn't_ know what it's like." Jason snaps, "She sat behind a computer and watched security footage. She doesn't know what I can really do, how much of a monster I really am." If Aaron is surprised by his sudden confession, he doesn't let on, though Jason wishes he'd kept all that information to himself. "And when did you become fucking Cupid? Christ."

Aaron is silent for a moment, listening to the sounds of the forest and thinking about Jason's words. He understands exactly where the man is coming from. He's killed with his bare hands he's murdered innocent men, women and children. He's the monster that the program made him. But he's also used his skills and training to save Marta. The same hands that can crush a man's windpipe have held her while she wakes from a nightmare. He's sure that Jason has done the same, that his training and abilities have kept Nicky alive on several occasions. That means something to Aaron, it makes up for the amount of red he has in his ledger. But he knows Jason won't agree, because he doesn't want to. He wants to be ostracized, a lone wolf, because it makes things easy. You can't miss what you don't have.

After a few more minutes of silence, Aaron opens his mouth to speak again but Jason quickly cuts him off. "If you say one more thing that sounds like the line of some Ben Affleck movie I swear I will punch you in the face."

Aaron can't stop himself from laughing, "Fine, point taken though I've always preferred Matt Damon."

Jason punches him on the shoulder for good measure.

* * *

Everything is quiet around them as evening falls into darkness around them. No cars pulling down the gravel road toward the parking lot, no teenagers sneaking out to smoke a joint or otherwise disobey their parents. Even the animals are silent tonight. It seems ominous and fits in with the cold pit that's starting to form in Aaron's stomach. But he dismisses his doubts, focusing on the task at hand. All they have to do is meet Byer, get Gemma and leave before Byer grows a pair and tries to shoot them all in the back.

Jason is scanning the area around the parking lot, his senses on high alert. He's never trusted the situations where everything seems perfect and everything appears to be running smoothly. In his experience, that's usually the first sign that it's all about to go to shit. But he can't see anyone else and he can't hear the rustle of clothing or grass as a sniper tries to get comfortable. He doesn't feel eyes watching him from a distance.

"What do you think?" Jason asks Aaron in a low voice, glancing over at his fellow agent to see what he thinks of the whole situation.

Aaron shrugs, but his body remains tense, his eyes alert and watchful. He's itching to take his gun out, just to make himself feel better, but he doesn't want to scare Byer off when the man finally shows up; if he shows up. He's put a lot of faith in Byer being the type of guy who knows when he's beat and knows when to give up. He also hopes that Byer took their threats against his family seriously and isn't willing to take any chances.

Aaron says, "It seems pretty quiet but—"

"But I have a feeling," Jason murmurs with a nod of agreement. The program has honed their instincts. Usually, if they have a feeling, it's for a good reason. Aaron glances at his watch. Byer still has five minutes before he's late and he hopes the man is on time. He's not keen on waiting around.

"Comm check," Aaron says as he puts his ear bud in and watches as Jason does the same. Immediately they are immersed in the conversation being held by Marta and Nicky.

"—should work," Nicky is saying, "I have movement on Old Courthouse Road; guys are you hearing this?"

"Reading you loud and clear," Aaron answers.

"About damned time," Marta mutters.

Aaron refrains from commenting as Nicky continues her sit-rep, "There are three vehicles heading south toward your position. One car just turned onto George Peers Drive, the other two cars are still en route. "

"Nick you need to get out of there," Jason ordered, "If the sniper is smarter than Byer he might chose the house."

"No," Nicky hissed, "The car is passed the house and on the road to the courthouse."

"Keep eyes on him," Aaron commanded, "Wait for the shooting to start before you take him out but take him first."

"Copy that," Nicky murmurs and then continues with the sit-rep, "One car continuing on and one entering the parking lot."

Just as the minute hand is clicking toward the twelve, Aaron hears the sound of car tires crunching on gravel and headlights wash across the scenic settings. The car rolls to a stop but the engine doesn't shut off, nor do the headlights, leaving Aaron and Jason squinting in the sudden burst of light.

The driver's side door swings open and Byer steps out. He does not look happy to see them. "Let's get this over with," he grumbles.

Aaron takes a step in the man's direction. The windows on the car are tinted so he can't see inside. The bad feeling that he's been fighting against is only getting stronger. "Where's Gemma Shearing?"

"Where's Dr. Shearing," Byer counters, "I thought she would want to be here for this joyous reunion." He's a little annoyed that he doesn't see Cross's doctor anywhere. That means he's going to have to keep hunting her until he can put a bullet in her head; so much for finally getting a good night's sleep.

Aaron's eyes flick toward Jason and the man gives him an almost imperceptible shake of his head. He doesn't like this either. They were foolish to expect this to go smoothly, to think they could just make an exchange with Byer like this is some big Hollywood movie. They should have just lured Byer here and gone straight for Gemma Shearing.

"We're not here to chat, Byer." Aaron informs him frankly. "Don't be an idiot, just stick to the plan and no one has to get hurt."

Byer shakes his head. "That plan just doesn't work for me, Cross." He says, "I thought you would have figured out by now that I'm the type of man who likes to call the shots."

Byer nods and Aaron hears the sound of the bullet whistling out of the gun just as his brain registers that this is a mayday situation and it's time to move. He hits the ground and rolls just as he hears the bullet strike the gravel.

"I got him," Nicky says with a shaky voice. "I should have taken him as soon as he laid himself out. He might have killed one of you."

"No time for that," Aaron admonishes her as he pops up on his feet and pulls out his gun in one fluid motion, trying to identify the source of the next threat.

"Fan out!" Byer is yelling, gesturing for the men to back away from the car. Aaron can now see two men in the trees around the parking lot and the back doors of the car are opening and three more men are getting out. They all have guns and, presumably, orders to shoot to kill. "I see two hostiles in the trees to the west."

Aaron fires at one of the men making his way through the trees and hits him in the chest, sending him tumbling to the ground. He makes a dive toward the bushes, when the other man fires a three shot burst in his direction, and starts shooting at him. Another sniper is out there somewhere because even though the sound is drowned out by the rapid fire of the other guns the distinctive whine-thunk of a suppressed .408 caliber round embedding itself into the tree to his right and Aaron feels like a sitting duck. This is not going to end well if they don't get eyes on the targets.

"We have another sniper," Jason informs them, "Byer is standing beside his vehicle as if he is alone in the parking lot."

"What an ass," Marta mutters through their comm-link. "I see some kind of movement on my screen; it looks like the other car circled back and is slowing down."

"Damn," From his current position, Aaron can see Jason also making a dive for cover, blindly firing his gun as he moves. One of his bullets hits the windshield of the car, striking just inches from where Byer is standing. So much for luck she's a fickle bitch anyway.

Jason feels completely exposed. Not only are there two men on the ground shooting him, but the sniper above could take him out at any moment. If he gets out of this, he's going to strangle Aaron Cross. Maybe this will convince the man to actually listen to him.

Another bullet whizzes by and Aaron returns the fire, standing to increase his accuracy. He drops one of the men who got out of the car but the other two are starting to take cover now, retreating and hiding behind the open car doors. It is a beautiful sight when the man's head on the north side of the car jerks and his body falls slack. "Good shot, Nick!" Jason praises, "Pick the next spot and take the shot, babe." Aaron wonders if he even realizes what he just said, but figures either way Nicky deserves a little praise from the bastard.

"Marta try to pan out into the trees," Aaron orders, "We need eyes on the other sniper before he takes one of our heads off."

Luck finally bats her eyes in Jason's direction and he clips Byer in the shoulder spinning him around. The look of astonishment on the man's face would be comical if they weren't in the middle of a fire fight that was heating up to a nice roiling boil thanks to the sniper out there taking pot shots. Never one to court death Byer gets into the driver's seat, out of harm's way and pulls the car away leaving the other man to try and stumble toward cover, but Nicky takes her shot killing him instantly.

Without missing a beat, Byer fishtails and squeals of the parking lot, the doors slamming shut as he speeds away. Jason glances in the direction of the retreating car, even though he knows it's a rookie mistake. He hears the whine an instant before he feels the sharp, stinging pain in his shoulder that spins him around and he drops him to the ground. It looks like Luck turned traitor again. Taking a moment to skitter into the trees and give him cover while he assesses the damage. He's been shot enough times to know that it's just a flesh wound but it still hurts like a bitch.

"Jason," Nicky's panicked voice is high across the comm.

"I'm fine," he growls, "You have five rounds left find that sniper."

"O—Okay," she stammers.

Aaron has never been the type of cower during a fire fight so he heads for the car lights he can see to the south-west of the parking lot. He's been mentally counting his rounds as he shoots a man crouching in the bushes in the center of his chest and knows there's only two left in the chamber. He's going to be completely vulnerable if he has to stop and reload. Maybe he can make these two shots count.

Jason spots the other shooter from the car and takes him down before the gunman can get a bead on him. He shoots toward the man hiding to the right of the car but misses when the man ducks out the way. The back windows of the car shatter.

The two men left start to move away from the car, running toward the cover offered by the undergrowth. Aaron starts to follow the one on the left but the man shoots at him as he runs and Aaron presses himself back into the bushes.

Aaron takes off after the other man, shooting him in the back of the leg as he retreats. The shooter tumbles to the ground and Aaron sees his gun go skidding across the grass. He moves close enough to the other man to snap his neck and then turns in time to see Jason drop the other shooter. Clearly two bullets was more than enough.

Aaron hurries back in Jason's direction when he sees Jason press his hand to his shoulder and bite out a few curses. "You hit," he questions, even though it is pretty obvious.

Jason glares at him, "I told you we were going to get shot." He mumbles through gritted teeth. "Though, I wish it had been you."

Aaron ignores the dig. "Is it serious?"

"I'll live." Jason assures him. "I could use a drink though."

Aaron smiles, "I think we can make that happen as soon as we clean up this mess." He can already hear the sound of approaching sirens. They don't have much time. Jason gives him another glare and Aaron rolls his eyes. "Fine, don't worry. I got this."

Jason focuses on thinking of anything but the pain he is in while Aaron drags the bodies of the men off into the woods, away from the parking lot. Jason is surprised to find himself thinking of Nicky and the first time they ever slept together.

They were children both needing comfort. Although Jason's only real complaint about his family was that he would never measure up to his father's exacting expectations and Nicky was escaping a drunken father and a mother that put herself above her child when it came to protection they both understood the other. The night he tapped on her window just loud enough for her to hear him over the yelling and breaking furniture.

"_I'm scared," she murmured when he invited her out onto the garage roof that connected their military houses was the night he knew they were destined to be together forever. _

"_I know," Jason assured her, "Don't worry, Nick, I've got you."_

The day he found out his father was being transferred was one of the darkest of his young life and he was sure they would never see each other again. But they had and they were still young and still idealists at heart. The next time they slept together for the first time it was not as innocent children, but as man and woman.

"_Jason," he eyes were wide and her lips swollen as he eased her down onto that bed in Paris. He could tell she was afraid. Nicky was always the studious type and she had been so busy getting to her position with the program she had barely taken the time to eat let alone start relationships._

"_Shh, Nick," he murmured between gentle kisses as he settled between her thighs, "Got you."_

He has to admit that the memory works surprisingly well when it comes to distracting him.

"Jason," Nicky's voice is barely a whisper over the comm-link and it freezes both men in place. "Someone is here—In the house."

"Where are you," Jason asks as he and Aaron share a knowing look before he takes off at a sprint for the Peer's House.

"Still in the basement," she mutters.

"Could it be park security," Aaron asks.

"No," Nicky offers shakily, "He came on foot; besides security would have headed for the obvious sound of gunshots instead of a quiet museum house."

"She's right," Jason's voice is breathless with the strain of running full speed over rough terrain with a bleeding bullet wound in his shoulder. "I'll be there soon just make yourself invisible and don't make any more noise."

"I'm scared," she whispers ignoring that last bit just long enough to let her feelings be known.

"I know," he huffs as the house comes into view. "I won't let anything happen to you." He knows it is true he has been hurting them both unnecessarily and he won't be letting her go anytime soon. "I'm coming for you, Nick."

There is a light passing over a window on the second floor and Jason knows she was right this is not a security patrol. Entering the house through the front door, which was left open by the person or persons inside looking for Nicky, Jason ducks into the parlor and hides in the shadows before he whispers, "Nick, babe, I need you to scream for me."

"But," she starts to protest but he shushes her.

"We need to be gone from her, Nick. The target is on the second floor looking for you I need him down here so I can neutralize him."

No sooner had Jason finished speaking then a blood curdling scream rent the air and the man on the second floor was storming down the wooden stairs to leap over the railing and heading for the door to the basement. Jason struck like a snake when the man stepped passed him breaking man's wrist and elbowing him in the head. The man tried to fight back but he was no match for Jason and with practiced ease he snapped the man's neck and let him fall to the wooden floor.

"Oh—my God," Nicky gasped as she edged out of the basement door. "That looks like," she pointed at the dead man with a trembling hand. "How—how is that possible?"

Jason was just as shocked as Nicky, because as fun as it had been to fantasize about wringing Aaron Cross' neck he never expected he would get the chance to do it before the night was up. The sound of sirens in the distance snapped Jason out of his stupor and he grabbed Nicky's hand and pulled her along with him. "We have to go."

* * *

Aaron stripped the men of any identification, their government issued weapons and anything else that might help the police identify them as government and leaving them without too much work with. He hopes they will assume it was just a shady business deal gone wrong. He does not have time to do much more than that.

"Let's go," Aaron calls as Jason and Nicky emerge from the woods. He puts the extra guns into the backpack containing the folders and hefts it over his shoulders. "You okay to walk?"

"I'm not new to this rodeo, Cross." Jason grumbles. But he knows that he needs some sort of medical attention soon, even if it is just some hydrogen peroxide and lots of gauze. He knows he's losing blood and that is never a good sign. He figures the fact that he just snapped Aaron's doppelganger's neck can wait until they finish this latest escapade.

They move back toward the motel as fast as they can, sticking clear of the roads and moving through backyards and scaling fences, even though it's a more circuitous route. But they can't afford to be noticed or stopped by approaching police, not with one man suffering from a gunshot wound and the other carrying a backpack full of weapons.

When they reach the motel parking lot, Aaron sees the curtain in the window flutter back into place and seconds later, the door is opening and Marta is stepping outside, her face white. "What happened," she asks as she looks at Jason, who is ashen and bloody. She looks at Aaron, who's a little dirty but otherwise no worse for wear and feels guilty at her relief when clearly Jason is hurt.

"Didn't go according to plan," Jason grunts as he pushes past her into the room still holding Nicky's hand, "Shocker."

Dropping Nicky's hand Jason heads for the bathroom and shuts the door behind him. Nicky's heart plummets to her feet as she realizes how much blood he had already lost. She's trying to tell herself that it looks worse than it is and that the amount of blood is deceptive and that Jason is going to be all right. But her non-rational mind is already moving toward the worse. Nicky follows after him and doesn't bother to ask for permission before she steps inside.

Marta turns toward Aaron. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." Aaron assures her, dropping the bag onto the ground. He's suddenly very exhausted, "Byer double-crossed us, the bastard. I should have seen it coming though. I knew better than to trust him." If Jason had been killed instead of just hurt, that would have been on his head. This was a flawed plan from the beginning but he had just refused to admit it.

Aaron drops onto the edge of the bed and Marta sits down beside him, reaching for his hands. "You could have been killed."

Even though Aaron knows she doesn't mean to scold him, that's how he takes it. "I know Marta." He retorts hotly and she blinks at him, surprised by his tone. "I screwed up, okay? I put us in danger. I get it."

"I'm not blaming you, Aaron." Marta reaches up to rest her hand against his face. He takes a moment to relax against her touch but he feels better as soon as he lets himself. "You did the best you could. I'm just glad that you're safe."

Aaron takes her hand and kisses his palm. He knows that he could definitely love this woman, if he doesn't already. For all the bad he's done in his life, he must have done something good to get her. "Gemma wasn't there, Doc." He tells her softly. "I'm sorry."

"We'll just have to think of something else." Aaron can tell that Marta is trying not to dwell on her sister's absence, trying not to read too much into it. Is she still locked up somewhere, or has she been dead for days? "We'll just go to Plan B."

"Which is?" Aaron raises an eyebrow, looking at her expectantly.

"I'll let you know when I think of it." Marta assures him. "Is Jason going to be okay?"

Aaron glances toward the bathroom. "I'm starting to think that he's invincible and just don't want to tell us," he remarks, "He seriously has more lives than a cat."

* * *

Jason certainly isn't feeling invincible as he pulls his shirt off, throwing the bloody mess into the corner. The bathroom is barely big enough to accommodate the counter, toilet and shower but at least the sink is in the bathroom, so he can clean himself up in peace.

Or maybe not—the door opens and Nicky steps inside, locking it behind her. He doesn't look away from his reflection, studying the bullet hole in his shoulder. "I'm fine." He says before the words can even leave her mouth.

"You're not fine. You've been shot." Nicky points out. The wound is still bleeding too much for her liking, but she can tell that it isn't serious. Once again, Jason Bourne will cheat death. "You need to clean that."

Jason rolls his eyes in her direction as he murmurs, "Thank you Dr. Parsons." Nicky doesn't rise to the bait so he watches her intent expression for a moment before adding, "Remember that time I tried to jump the fence with my new BMX bike?"

Nicky jerks almost as if he has struck her and her eyes rise to his for a moment before she nods, "You were more afraid your father would ground you for scratching the paint than you were of letting me scrub the gravel out of your shin."

"Yeah," Jason laughed. "I should have been more afraid my mother would lose it when she came home and found all of her special _'company-is-coming'_ hand towels muddy and blood-stained."

Nicky smiled, "Your mother was usually so even tempered but it took her a good thirty minutes to realize the blood was yours and then she was trying to cart you off to the emergency room."

"My dad was just glad those stupid towels were gone so he wouldn't have to hear my mother bitch about the dark smudges he left on them when he used them."

"He took us to the bowling alley for ice cream," she laughed, "As a thank you."

Nicky grabs the roll of toilet paper, tearing off a wad. It's not ideal, but it'll have to do. She presses the tissue to the spot on his shoulder and he reaches up to hold it in place. Nicky wets another handful of the tissue and starts to wash some of the blood off his skin but Jason moves out of her reach. "I can do it," he tells her.

"Why are you always so stubborn?" Nicky snaps. "Just let me help you!" They stare at each other for a beat before Jason steps toward her once more. "You've got to stop doing this to me, Jason." She mumbles, almost to herself, "The back and forth is killing me."

Jason sighs, focusing on his reflection in order to avoid looking at her. Unfortunately, he can see her reflection there too. "Maybe you should let me go, Nicky," he says softly.

Nicky looks up at him and Jason grudgingly turns his gaze back on her. "I can't," she says simply. "I've tried; don't you think I want to, sometimes? It would be easier, less painful. But I can't."

"You always were too stubborn for you own good," Jason remarks. Nicky's eyes search his and see the recognition that he's been keep from her for so long. "I remembered you," He says softly, "In Madrid."

Nicky can't keep her eyes from welling with tears, even though the last thing she wants to do is get all emotional. This isn't the time for that. "Then why…?"

"It was better that way. If we not together it was safer for you." Jason tells her. For the first time, he doesn't regret being honest.

Nicky rolls her eyes. "Why don't you let me make my own decisions, okay Bourne?" Her tone is slightly teasing but the seriousness of the moment still hangs between them. "I care about you. Why is that so scary?"

Jason avoids her eyes. "The people who care about me get hurt." The image of Marie flashes in his mind, unbidden, just like it does dozens of times a day. He feels the guilt for her death every day. "I can't let that happen to you."

Nicky moves closer to him, putting her arms around his waist. "I am safest with you to protect me," she says softly, looking up at him.

Jason isn't sure he deserves the amount of trust he sees in Nicky's eyes. He's not sure he can keep her safe when he can barely keep himself out of danger. "And who will protect you from me?"

Nicky smiles at him softly. "I'm not totally helpless. I seem to remember kicking your ass in football a few times when we were kids."

Jason kisses her then because he wants to remember himself as fondly as she does. He wants to be the person she seems to believe that he is. When she kisses him back, pulling him closer, he thinks that he just might be.


	17. Chapter 17

**Seventeen **

The sound of the front door slamming startled Abigail awake. She did not expect to fall asleep in Bella's room after promising to lay down with her little girl for 'just five minutes' until she woke up with Bella still snuggled around her chest. Thankfully her daughter is not roused by the noise downstairs or the movement of her mother slipping out of bed. Abigail is able to close the door quietly behind her. She can hear the sounds of someone moving around downstairs and she wonders if she is being naïve in automatically assuming the person who walked in is her husband. She has had proof recently that her house is not quite the sanctuary that she once thought it was.

But Abigail is still not worried as she heads downstairs after checking on Grace, who is also sleeping soundly with her headphones on. Abigail makes a mental note to speak to her daughter about quality sleep as she reaches the stairs. If anything, she finds herself more annoyed at Ric's late and noisy entrance and the fact that he has been out of touch throughout most of the day. He didn't even to call to tell her he wasn't going to be home for dinner, leaving her to explain to her daughters where their father was. She did not tell them that he was most likely out putting their family in danger; instead she simply said he had to work late. She knows that all of this has to do with the two men that were in her house Sunday afternoon and she can't believe Ric is continuing to shut her out, after everything she heard.

Ric is in the master bath and Abigail can't help but gasp when she sees the state that her husband is in. There is blood all over the counter and in the sink and his shirt, which has been tossed carelessly to the floor at his feet. She finds herself biting her tongue on an instinctually nurturing response as she lets her simmering anger rise to a boil. Ric has the tap running and is grimacing as he tries to work up the nerve to splash water on the bullet wound in his shoulder.

When Ric sees his wife standing in the doorway, he feels relief fill him; his body has been a mass of jangling nerves since he was shot. The only thing he wants is for her to take care of him and make everything just stop, even if it is just for a little while. His shoulder hurts so badly that he is amazed he was able to drive home without passing out behind the wheel and to make matters worse, he still has to deal with Cross and Bourne and their women. He took his chance and he lost it. He failed. And now he does not know how he is supposed to protect his family from these savages when he cannot even protect his workplace.

Abigail's face is a picture of shock, but she doesn't move toward him or offer him even a sympathetic glance. "What happened?"

"What does it look like," he snaps at her, annoyed by her apparent lack of concern. He finally dribbles some water onto his shoulder and it feels like he doused it with alcohol. "Jesus. Shit." He squeezes his eyes shut and bows his head; his hands grip the sink until his knuckles are white.

Abigail stares at him for a moment, taking in the blood and the twisted expression on his face—all of it. Her husband has been shot. And she cannot seem to feel anything but annoyance mixed with fear for her children. "You should go to a hospital," she says unhelpfully.

Ric looks up at her and glares. "I can't go to a hospital, Abigail. They'll ask too many questions…"

"Which you can't answer," Abigail finishes for him and Byer does not respond so she pushes the sharp edge of her words deeper into his wounded pride, "because the things that you were doing tonight weren't exactly legal. Were they?" His eyes drop away from hers but he doesn't look ashamed as she would have expected from the man she thought she knew; he just looks annoyed as he concentrates on trying to wash some of the blood off his skin. "Did you kill them?" His lack of response is enough of an answer for her. "You put our family in danger—Our girls. I asked you not to do this. I _begged_ you. And you did it anyway. And now look what you've done."

Byer has always prided himself in being the type of man who can remain cool under pressure and not let his emotions get the better of him. But right now, he is the type of man who really wants to smack his wife; doesn't she understand that he can't just let these people go—he owns them. He continues scrubbing his hands under the running water instead. "I'm doing the best I can! Everything I'm doing is to keep you and the girls safe! I'm trying to keep this whole goddamn country safe! I'd like to see how you would fair in my position."

"I would never put our children in danger." Abigail informs him frankly. "I would never play with the lives of the innocent to get what I wanted. I would have just given those men what they wanted. Clearly, they know what they're doing better than you do."

"Because I made them that way," Byer shouts at her. He turns away from the sink so he's face to face with her. "I made them. And I swear to you I will break them if it's the last thing I do."

Abigail's eyes flick toward the bullet wound on his shoulder and she arches her eyebrow as she snaps, "It might be. Are you really ready to die for this? Is this really worth putting us in danger for?" She questions, her eyes begging him to listen to her, to really realize what is at stake here. "We can all leave, tonight. Go to my mother's for a few days, figure out a plan. We can run from all this, as a family."

Byer breaks eye contact first and once again his silence provides Abigail with the only answer she needs.

"Maybe you should go to your mother's for a few days," Byer says, studying the blood on the counter top—his blood—So much for being untouchable, "You and the girls."

Abigail crosses her arms over her chest. "If you don't come with us, 'Ric, then I don't ever want to see you again." She informs him, surprised by how cold and strong her voice is. But she realizes as she says them that she means the words. "You're not the person I thought you were."

Byer looks at her in surprise. "Abby-"

"No. You like ultimatums, here's one for you." Abigail turns and leaves the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. She grabs her suitcase out from the closet and starts packing, all the while hoping that the bathroom door while open and he'll come out and offer to leave with her and the girls or offer an alternative that keeps them all safe and together. But the door stays shut, so she keeps packing.

* * *

They trade one crappy motel for another, though this time picking the lock on two rooms because they're going to be camping out for the remainder of the night. The digital clock on the nightstand informs Marta that it's nearly three in the morning but she feels far too wired to even think about sleeping. Not to mention the comforter is dirty and marked with cigarette burns and she definitely doesn't want to know what else.

Aaron can't help but smile when he sees the look on her face. "One day, I'll take you somewhere nice." He assures her.

Marta arches an eyebrow and murmurs, "Promise. Maybe somewhere with room service," She teases lightly.

But Aaron feels like an idiot. "You must be starving." He honestly can't remember the last time any of them have eaten, though the program has made sure that his body can go for several days without something to eat. It's hard to make time for dinner when you're on a reconnaissance mission. The same goes for when you're on the run from people trying to kill you.

"I'll be all right," Marta says but she doesn't argue with his words. She's been listening to her stomach rumble for the past several hours, but they've had more important things to worry about.

Aaron leans down, presses a kiss to Marta's forehead and then heads off to find a vending machine in spite of Marta's assurance that really, she's fine. He returns a short time later with his arms loaded with bags of chips and candy bars. "Not exactly a balanced meal but it should do for now." He says with a shrug.

Marta picks up at Kit-Kat bar and the look on her face after she takes a bite is definitely enough to distract Aaron from the rescue mission as she purrs, "Mmmm, chocolate." She smiles at Aaron and he moves closer to her, putting his arms around her waist. "You're too good to me, Aaron."

Aaron can't help but laugh, shaking his head, "That's actually kind of sad. Considering all I've done is put you in danger." But he kisses her anyway and she tastes like chocolate and Marta two things he believes would make a nice combination one day when he finally takes her to that five star hotel with room service.

Marta tosses the rest of her candy bar back into the pile of goodies and slips her arms around his shoulders. She kisses him again and pulls her closer. "I was already in danger. I'd be dead if it wasn't for you." She points out, "You don't give yourself enough credit. You're like my knight in shining armor."

Aaron scoffs but doesn't argue. The selfish part of him loves hearing those words, loves knowing that he is appreciated. Sometimes he just wants to know what he means to her. Marta moves closer against him, resting her cheek against his chest as he holds her close. He thinks this is what he has been searching for all his life and it terrifies him as much as it fortifies him. Having this small taste of a real life with Marta and enough intellect to appreciate the delicate balance between man and woman is like an exhilarating and precarious teeter totter. She will be either his ruin or restoration, but he does not care which. He will savor every moment.

"I don't want to lose you," she whispers.

Aaron tightens his arms around her. "You won't," he assures her. He has always hated useless promises, the promises that people make when they know they can't possibly keep them. He was five the first time he heard a promise that he knew was just a lie and had his mother's words, '_I'll be back soon',_ ringing in his ears as he watched her drive away. He hopes he's not making a useless promise to Marta now, even though he knows there's no guarantee to his words.

Marta is silent for a moment, just listening to the steady sound of his heart in his chest. "It will be my fault." She says softly, almost so he can't hear, "If something happens to you."

Aaron pulls away slightly so he can study her face. He can see the concern and anxiety in her eyes and he wishes he could take all that away, even for a little bit. But this is the kind of life they led now, where every moment could bring them closer to danger. Hopefully all of this will be worth it and they can finally earn their freedom.

"Marta, don't say that." Aaron brushes her hair away from her face, "You couldn't blame yourself if something happened to me." He's been walking around with a target on his back since he agreed to be in the program and recently it's just gotten bigger.

"All of this, everything we've been going through this past week has been because of me, because of my sister. Everyone is risking their lives because of me and my sister." Marta tells him, "If something happens to you or anyone, it'll be my fault. I brought us here. I insisted." It's not hard for her to remember the fight she had with Aaron back in their hotel room in Vietnam, the things she'd said and how she'd acted. Then, she'd felt like she didn't have a choice, that the only logical next step was to rescue Gemma. She'd made the decision for Aaron and Jason and now Nicky. She still feels like she has no choice, like she's backed into a corner, but things suddenly feel much more complicated.

Aaron shakes his head. "Marta, of course you insisted. It's your sister. You aren't selfish because you want to help her. That just makes you a good person." He kisses her softly and strokes her cheek as he tries to reassure her, "And we're going to help your sister and make Byer and everyone else pay for what they've done to us and the rest of the people affected by their duplicity."

It still sounds so simple, like they haven't been avoiding death at every turn and are just going to waltz right in there and liberate Gemma from her prison and hand the files over to congress. Marta feels like she's going to lose either way: if they just walk away now, she lets her sister down. If they go through with the plan, she could lose Aaron. The only scenario where she gets it all is the one where everything goes off without a hitch. Marta has known since she was ten years old that she's not one of those people destined to have it all.

Marta meets Aaron's gaze and there is no fear there, nothing but confidence. She wonders if that is his training or how he really feels. "I can't lose you and I can't lose Gemma. I am a selfish bitch," she sighs self-deprecatingly.

"Hey, Doc, no," Aaron says softly. A single tear drops to her cheek and he wipes it away with the pad of his thumb quickly, like it was never there. "There is nothing selfish about wanting to keep those you—," he hesitates over using the word love but finally settles on, "—those you care about safe. You have to think positive, okay?"

"I am just so scared," she murmurs bowing her head.

"Don't you have faith in me," he teases but he feels his guts tighten at the thought that she does not trust him to see them both through this shit storm safe to the other side. He gently cards his fingers through her hair and gives her a little smile. "I have done more difficult things, Doc, fought more impressive battles. Jason has, too, tomorrow is going to be tricky, but it is nothing we have not handled before. And when we are finished we'll get as far as we can away from this; okay? Think sandy beaches and nice hotels with clean sheets and room service and I can have you all to myself."

"I have faith," Marta smiles as she presses her lips to the spot over his beating heart, "in you."

* * *

In the end, the plan is almost too simple. Go in, get Gemma, make a mad dash for 1 First Street, N. E., Washington, D. C. and hand over the documents before getting caught and without getting shot. No more trying to make deals or playing nice with Byer if the man stepped between them and their goal he would meet a swift end. The difficult part would be getting into the assigned courtroom without being arrested. They decided that no matter how difficult that task would be they would adhere to the rigorous regulations governing the Supreme Court building and property. It would be a bitch if they got out from under NRAG's kill order only to be imprisoned for breaking one of the six building regulations enforced by the Supreme Court Police squad. So, they would need to be sure they did not bring anything that could be construed as a weapon, apart from Aaron and Jason, into the area. But as difficult as it would be to keep the third regulation of the Supreme Courts building regulations it is number five they were going to have the most difficulty obeying, because there is really no way they would be able to get to the courtroom without making some sort of disturbance. They could only hope that the media frenzy created by such a high profile deposition would give the Supreme Court Police squad other things to deal with.

Thanks to public record they have the schematics of the NRAG facility where Nicky was imprisoned with Gemma and Nicky is able to recall, as best she can, the number of hallways she was lead through and the number of stairs she went down and how many cells she passed before she was tossed into the one holding Gemma Shearing. But even with the schematics, they are basically going in blind. There is no way to know how many guards they will encounter or whether Byer will have beefed up security after their little run-in the night before.

Hopefully, Byer is still licking his wounds and won't expect them to just try and walk through the front door. There is also the unspoken problem of Gemma being moved or dead, but not even Jason is callous enough to point out the latter. By this point, he needs to believe that Marta's sister is still alive just as much as the rest of them. Otherwise all of this will have been for nothing and he doesn't like doing things for nothing.

Jason and Aaron will go into the facility and grab Gemma while Nicky and Marta procure through nefarious means a vehicle that will take them to the court house. Even though neither Aaron nor Jason like the idea of being stuck in one vehicle while trying to evade any number of armed and pissed off NRAG guards, it is the best way to ensure that they can all stay together and besides there is no way to tell what state Gemma will be in when they finally get her. Aaron is willing to bet she is not going to be up for running through the streets of D.C. trying to avoid being shot.

When they part ways, there is almost an air of finality between the two groups. This is it; for better or worse, this will be the end of things. Hopefully, everything will go according to plan though they all know better than to expect that to happen.

* * *

From the outside, there's nothing particularly memorable about the NRAG facility and Aaron has the feeling that most people would walk right past the building and have no idea what is there. If they notice it at all, they probably do not spare much thought for what goes on behind its doors. From his vantage point, Aaron does not think there is increased security or anyone waiting for them but he is not going to let his guard down. All it takes is one second, one moment of carelessness, one bullet. That thought used to give him a kick of adrenaline and excitement before the start of each mission and he almost looked forward to the moment when he would actually step into enemy territory and pitting his new intellect and physical prowess against his foe. Now he just wants all this to be over. Clearly, he is getting too old for this shit.

Two sharp whistles cut through the din of chatter around him and Aaron emerges from his spot and skirting the side of the building and slipping around the back. Jason's signal has gone unnoticed by all except Aaron who joins him behind the structure where Marta once waited for his signal. Today, Jason has been studying the back entrance, because neither of them is keen on taking their chances and walking right through the front door.

Crouching near the former Treadstone asset Aaron checks his clip and then meets the man's gaze. In that moment they understand each other. They may be tired of the constant vigilance and hyper-awareness but this is who they are. No matter how far they have come from their respective programs they were now and always would be soldiers—brothers made by the hands of men and fashioned into kindred beings. They clashed because they saw themselves too clearly in each other's eyes.

It was an intense moment of mutual realization that was broken when Jason shifted and checked his own clip. "Just so we're clear," he slid the fully loaded clip back into his weapon as he spoke, "I'm not above using you as a human shield if this goes to hell in a hand basket, since this is your plan and all." Jason remarks when Aaron arches an eyebrow, "Besides I've already been shot so I think someone else should take the bullet this time."

"How 'bout they take the bullets and we just get the job done?" Aaron asks with a sarcastic smile. "That is okay with you; right?"

Jason shrugs, "That was the plan last time," he points out.

"So," Aaron grins, "Don't fuck up my plan and you won't have any spare holes."

"Prick," Jason mutters, but there is amusement in his voice as they turn and watch the back door in silence, for a moment, each lost to his own thoughts. There is no telling what they will find on the other side of the door, though they have both walked into situations worse than this one. Aaron knows this is what he was made for; this is why the program spent so much time and money on him. Though he doubts they ever expected him to bite the hands that fed him. They should have realized he would not remain the simple and suggestible man they pulled from a wrecked Humvee and offered the world.

Byer thought he was the source of Aaron's creation, but really it was Marta. She made him what he is and what he will be and when this was over only she would give him what he needed. Now he has something that the program could never give him: motivation and a reason to want to make it through alive. Plus he has Jason Bourne on his side. He is still not entirely convinced that Jason is not off his rocker, but he is willing to count that as an advantage.

"Let's do this." Aaron mutters, withdrawing his gun and pressing it against his palm.

"This better work Cross," Jason mumbles, turning his gun and testing the weight before meeting the other man's eyes. "This better be worth it."

Aaron nods, "It will be."

What he feels like saying is _it has to be_. They have come too far now for him to start doubting himself but this is more than a mission, this is personal and he figures that has to count for something.


	18. Chapter 18

**AN1: **Sorry this took so long, but it is only part of what was supposed to be the last chapter. It appears that the last chapter has morphed into at least 30 pages so I am breaking it up into three parts. So, there are two more chapters and the epilogue to come.

**AN2: **Y'all may not know this but I work 2 jobs and only work on the weekends but recently I have been working on Saturday's, too. Jack E Peace is awesome and she has her parts done, but I am the slacker that is too busy to do my part in a timely manner. I sent this little cliffy to tide y'all over because it is gonna be a hunt-and-peck sort of writing weekend, again.

**To Jack E Peace, **You are an awesome writing partner and I thank you for all the wonderful work you have done. We are in the home-stretch and the finish line is just within our grasp largely due to the wonderful work you have done to make this fic a reality. Thanks partner!

**Eighteen **

Getting into the building is easy. Aaron knows from experience that when things start off easy, they usually end up getting hard. Just once, he would like a smooth ride and he figures after everything he has been through that he deserves it. Meeting Jason's eyes as they make their way through the hall Aaron can see the same thoughts mirrored in them that are bouncing around in his head.

Before heading down to the basement to hopefully retrieve Gemma, they set a small fire in the first unlocked supply closet. The fire will take several minutes to really catch but once it does it should cause a nice distraction. They will need all the help they can get. Aaron is not above shooting his way out of this building but he would really like to not have to do that Gemma most likely would not be in any condition to dodge bullets. That aside, Aaron is damned tired of shooting people and being shot at.

As they move from hallway to hallway, they only encounter one other person, a uniformed man unfortunate enough to be rounding the corner at the same time they are. Jason takes him down with a blow to his wind pipe and chest before the other man can even reach for his gun. Aaron figures that, even though Jason drives him absolutely crazy, there are worst people to have on his side during an operation like this. Solitude and isolation were always encouraged in the program; most missions were solo and when they were not, there was hardly time or need for fraternization. Aaron figures the reason behind keeping them all separate and contained was because the program worried about what would happen if they actually put their heads together and questioned the status quo and then cooperated as a team against the powers-that-be. He and Jason are shining examples of that.

Finally, they made it to the basement and the temperature drops sharply. Even so, Aaron wrinkles his nose against the smells of mildew, stagnant water, bodily fluids and despair. There was a time before he joined the program that Kenneth James Kitsom would have only known that the area smelled foul and he would have been stupefied if someone asked if something as ephemeral as despair had a scent. But after the chems and after his body and brain became everything it had not been before Aaron Cross knew that not only did despair have a fragrance it also had a taste. It was the discordant tone in a fragrant world and a bitter and rancid tang on the palate.

Gemma is not the first person who has been sentenced to a slow death, down here, in isolation and neglect in this cement hell. Aaron heads down the steps gun first his muscles are tense with anticipation and his enhanced perception taking in the scuttle of things best left unnamed. Nothing good is ever drawn to a place that has housed death and decay and this building has done more than house destruction it has birthed it from the womb of depravity sired by egotism.

Aaron stops a few stairs from the bottom and closes his eyes as he listens trying to hear guards making rounds, prisoners in their cells and men more monster than they were before Byer got his hands on them. He hears nothing he perceives as a threat, but there is no way to know how many guards they will meet up with or what else is being kept down here. After meeting the LARX agent in Manila, it makes perfect sense to Aaron to keep those agents in cages.

All the cells are empty except for one. The woman Aaron hopes is Gemma Shearing is curled in the fetal position on a grungy cot that looks just as dirty and uncomfortable as the floor. He can see the resemblance between her and Marta even in Gemma's current state and for a moment he cannot stop himself from thinking about Marta being the one stuck down here, imprisoned, tortured and left to die. He pushes that thought away because it is far from productive. Gemma does not open her eyes or do anything to acknowledge their presence. If it was not for the fact that he can tell she was breathing, Aaron would worry that she was already dead.

Jason starts on picking the lock while Aaron puts his gun away, saying Gemma's name softly. Her eyes open but she is still too exhausted to really care why they are there at all. Aaron has seen that look many times before on people who no longer care that he has come to kill them because they are just too tired and scared to run or fight anymore.

"You need to come with us," Aaron says once he has Gemma's attention. He hears the click of the lock as Jason finally forces it open.

Gemma sits up slowly, her eyes still on Aaron, her expression uncomprehending. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she says with just enough strength to make herself sound adamant and far tougher than she actually feels. She thinks about Nicky and how she is surely dead now and how she refused to let herself go quietly. "If you're going to kill me, just get it over with," she pushes her tangled hair out of her face and meets her killers with an angry gaze and defiant chin, "But I'm not going anywhere with you."

Aaron can tell that Jason is getting fidgety and he doesn't blame him. They are wasting time here. Every second they spend talking to Gemma is a second that brings them closer to being discovered; which would not be in Gemma's best interest because of the three of them she is least likely to be able to escape with gun-wielding guards on their ass.

"We're not going to hurt you," Aaron insists, moving past Jason and into the cell. "Your sister sent me here to get you."

But Gemma still looks doubtful and Aaron has to hand it to Byer he may be a sociopath but he knows how to psychologically fuck with you until you would doubt your own grandmother. "Sounds like a trick," she frowns and Aaron does not put it past Byer to have used every weapon in his arsenal to convince Gemma that she is alone in this. To her this is just another mind game, one last thing to try and pull over on her. "Or I'm dreaming," she frowns and Aaron can see her start to slump against the mattress.

"You're not dreaming," he insists. And he can see her mind warring between hope and despair. She fully expects that they are giving her this last bit of hope only to then snatch it away from her. Promises of rescue, only to have it prove to be a trick would almost be worse than death because her mind was in such a fragile place at this moment.

Jason groans through clinched teeth, "She doesn't want to be rescued," he snaps at Aaron. "Stop talking and put all of your training to work so we can get the hell out of here or let's just leave her before we all end up killed."

Aaron glares at him "Oh, good idea Jason. I'm sure Marta would love that. Got anymore bright ideas?"

Gemma perks up and her eyes get a bit wider. "Jason," She repeats, "Jason Bourne?" The man shifts, slightly uncomfortable at the sudden attention. "Nicky told me about you," she murmurs and tears filled her eyes. "She said you'd come for her. I thought she was being stupid but here you are; I'm so sorry." She reaches out and grasps Jason's hand as she says almost breathlessly, "They took her away days ago; you came too late."

"She's fine," Jason states firmly and his tone doesn't let on that he has any sort of attachment to Nicky at all. "She's with your sister," he informs Gemma as he pulls his hand from hers. He doesn't betray the fact that leaving Nicky this morning was harder than it ever had been before or that he cannot wait for this to all be over so they can just disappear together. There's nothing but detachment in his tone.

"She knew you would come," Gemma murmurs as she gives him a weak but entirely genuine smile. Jason hides his own smile well. Gemma's eyes shift toward Aaron. "And you're him, aren't you; the terrorist who introduced my sister to this life of crime."

"Usually I just go by Aaron," He holds his hand out to Gemma and when she takes it, Aaron gently pulls her into a standing position. Her knees buckle and her head spins and Aaron puts his hands on her waist to steady her. "You're okay, Gemma, we're going to get you out of here."

Jason passes her the water bottle they brought along under the assumption that she would be in less than perfect condition. Under Aaron's guidance she only has a few sips, even though her body screams for more.

"Just stick close." Aaron coaches as they leave the cell. "We're just going to go up and out. Marta is going to have a car waiting outside. If someone starts shooting at us, just drop to the floor." They are heading toward the door with Gemma in between them.

"Feel free to use Aaron as a shield," Jason adds as he pulls out his gun and holds it at the ready, "I fully intend to."

Gemma doesn't know if Jason is making a joke or being completely serious, so she decides not to say anything at all. Instead, she focuses all her energy on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping herself upright. It is a lot harder than it seems. She hopes that this is not a trap; she hopes she is finally going to see daylight again and smell fresh air and eat an actual meal and sleep in her own bed. And, most of all, she hopes that her baby sister really is waiting outside.

The stairs that lead down to the basement level aren't connected to the stairs that lead up through the rest of the building, so unfortunately they can't just take the same stairwell up to the main level and walk out the front door.

The hallway is clear when Aaron gives it a cursory glance, but there's no telling how long it will stay that way. The fire they set in the closet either put itself out before it could really get started or has yet to really catch because he hasn't heard any alarms or general sounds of panic. It would be nice to have that distraction now, just so he didn't have to feel like he was about to become a sitting duck by walking himself, another wanted fugitive and a prisoner into the hallway in full view of the security cameras and anyone else who happened to walk out of their office. But Aaron's not going to waste time hanging around in a stairwell all day, so he gestures for Gemma and Jason to follow him into the hallway.

They hug the wall as they walk, heads down, guns up. Aaron can see the door that will lead them to the other stairwell when he hears the sound of footsteps coming in their direction.

Aaron positions himself in front of Gemma, pushing her against the wall, as his eyes scan around for possible options. They're sitting ducks in the sterile hallway, which doesn't even boast a potted plant to hide behind. Jason tries the office door behind him and finds it unlocked, which he considers to be a sign that luck is still on their side, at least temporarily.

Aaron gestures for Gemma to hide underneath the desk while he and Jason find their own hiding places. Jason figures their luck has finally reached its end when the office door opens just as he ducks behind a filing cabinet. He watches as a frazzled looking man in a rumpled suit hurries into the room, flipping through the files and papers in his hands. Jason hopes the guy will remain distracted and just get what he needs and get the hell out. The minute they have to start shooting is the moment they can stop pretending like they are just going to be able to walk out of here. Survival mode has always been Jason's default and it kept him alive in situations that should have been the death of him.

Jason is pretty sure that they have been picked up on the security feed by now and if they haven't, he is going to be insulted because that means the security for the programs is for shit and he wasted the last four years of his life on the run when he could have just walked in and shot anyone and everyone that might get a wild hair up their ass to come looking for him.

Gemma hears the door open and she hugs her knees tighter to her chest, praying that the office will look deserted and their unwelcome guest will just walk away. She tries to keep as still as possible, hoping that the sound of her heart hammering in her chest is only loud to her own ears. For some reason, she thinks about playing hide-and-seek when she was a kid and how the most intense moments were those when the seeker walked right past her hiding spot. This is a lot like this, only instead of being tagged it, she'll probably just be shot. It would be nice to be a kid again.

Gemma's heart skips a beat when the man in the office pulls the chair out from underneath the desk. She cannot see more than his legs from this vantage point but she's aware of the fact that she's trapped like a rabbit in a hole and all the guy has to do is bend down and shoot her. Goodbye fresh air and sunshine. Goodbye warm food and clean sheets.

Aaron watches as the guy pulls his chair out from underneath the desk, revealing Gemma cowering against the corner. The guy is still focused on his files, completely unaware that there's a woman hiding just inches from where he's standing or that there's a highly trained agent putting his gun at his back. Aaron's finger is on the trigger, but he doesn't want to shoot this guy unless he absolutely has to. Maybe Jason would consider that the wrong choice but he'd really like to keep the body count of innocent civilians to a minimum. Clearly this guy's training probably doesn't extend past making spreadsheets in Excel, otherwise they would have all been made the second he walked through the door. Aaron's hiding spot isn't exactly his best work.

The guy finally puts down his files and as he goes to sit down, he sees Gemma. His expression of surprise is so comical that even given the situation, Aaron has a hard time not laughing.

"Can you help me," Gemma puts her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Please," She whispers and the guy continues to stare at her. It brings a flash of Marta hurt and writhing on the cement pier pleading a fisherman and his grandson for help. That fisherman made the right choice and he walked away with a pricy gold watch and a hefty sum of money. It is this man's turn and one wrong move will dictate his future; however short or long that might be.

At that moment, the alarms finally start going off. Aaron does not know if the fire has finally caught someone's attention or if their presence on the security footage is what triggered the sirens but it hardly matters.

The guy seems to put two and two together pretty quickly and moves toward the phone on his desk and Aaron steps out of hiding snapping his neck before the scientist can even touch the plastic of the phone's handset. Gemma cried out in surprise, her eyes never leaving the man even as he started to reach for something on the desk; it was chilling watching the life flicker out of the man's eyes. She remains hidden beneath the desk, staring at the dead man on the floor in front of her. If she ever gets out of this, she has the feeling she is going to need plenty of therapy.

Aaron pulls her to her feet quickly and she nearly stumbles over the body in her haste to get away from him and gain her footing. "We need to get out of here, now." He's stating the obvious, but he hardly cares, she seems shell-shocked. He wishes that he could have avoided killing in front of Marta's sister, but some things cannot be helped and getting her out safely is his main concern.

The sound of the alarms going off are almost deafening in the hallway but Aaron tries to push that out of his mind and focus on the mission at hand. He heads toward the door which leads to the other stairwell but Jason hesitates. "It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel if they get above us," he points out.

"It is a chance we have to take," Aaron snaps back. "We can't just hang around in this hallway because I'm pretty sure there's only one way up."

Someone down the hall began shooting at them which pretty much settled that argument. In fact, Jason, thrusts the door open and demands hotly, "What the hell are you waiting for," before popping off a couple rounds down the hall.

Aaron smiles as he enters the stairwell taking point. Assuring himself that at least for now the stairwell is safe Aaron grasps Gemma's arm with his right hand and leads with his glock. The minute they disappear into their stairwell the sound of the alarms and the bullets fade to a more tolerable din and it is like the calm before the worst part of the storm. Aaron doesn't waste too much time savoring the silence because he is running and taking the stairs two at a time. Gemma is trying to follow as quickly as she can. However, her legs are still too weak and she cannot seem to catch her breath which is causing her head to spin. Gemma is trying to use the handrail to pull herself up but even that is not helping.

The glass on the door shatters as they round up onto the next floor and bullets ping around the stairwell. Jason knows there is no point in wasting time trying to figure out how to barricade the door. The people shooting at them are coming through whether they like it or not. He turns and sees Aaron still moving up the stairs practically dragging Gemma, who is struggling to do the same. "This is taking too damned long," Jason growls and then he is grabbing her up and tossing her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. They can make better time this way and Jason wonders why they didn't think about that earlier as he hurries up the stairs after Aaron. The door below bangs against the wall and they are suddenly not alone in the stairwell.

"What's the plan, Cross," Jason shouts at the other agent, wincing as bullets ricochet throughout the corridor and embed themselves in the wall far too close to where he is standing.

Aaron shoots down into the stairwell, but he cannot really see the people shooting up at them. He has a better vantage point than Jason does and he has to added advantage of not carrying a person around but that's not really making him a better shot right now. They do not have enough ammo for him to just start shooting and hope for the best; that seems to be something reserved for the villainous.

"Keep going up. Let's hope that there's no one waiting for us on the other side of the door." Aaron says as Jason joins him. Jason gives him a look and Aaron hitches a shoulder. "I'm running out of ideas here, buddy."

Jason shoots the man closest to them and hopes that will cause a distraction as his body goes tumbling back down the stairs. Aaron opens the door leading to the next level of the building stepping into the empty corridor and slams it closed once Jason and Gemma are in the hallway. He wishes there was something to barricade the door with, but there is nothing in the hallway but a dying potted plant.

The alarms are still going off and Aaron can hear the sounds of people rapidly approaching them from the other end of the hallway. Within seconds, they are going to be face-to-face with at least three people who want to kill them. "I'm getting a bad feeling." Aaron mutters.

Jason arches an eyebrow, "You think," he mutters as he puts Gemma back on her feet and she wobbles and leans against the wall for support. The lack of proper nutrition and exercise, coupled with the pure fear that she is going to die is making it difficult to stand. "Just stay down," Jason advises when he sees her trying to remain upright, "And try not to die."

"Good advice," Gemma mutters. She wants to cover her eyes with her hands and just make it all go away. The sound of bullets being fired in her direction makes it obvious that she can't just ignore the situation.

Aaron has never enjoyed being in the middle of firefights. And he definitely does not enjoy being in the middle of them without any sort of cover or escape plan. There are only four of them heading down the hall and thankfully he and Jason are able to take them out before getting shot themselves. But the door to the stairs swings open and their brief reprieve from being shot at is over. Aaron grabs Gemma's elbow roughly and pulls her up to her feet again, urging her to run. That seems like the best plan at the moment: run like hell.

Jason fires several shots into the group pursuing them and drops two of them but that doesn't stop the remainder of the group from firing at them. He recognizes this as the hallway they first came into, the one where they set the fire in the supply closet. He can smell smoke and knows that as soon as they round the corner they'll see the closet and the door that will lead them back out of the building. He really hopes he can make it that far without getting shot again.

Aaron pulls Gemma toward the corner of the hallway and she turns back to make sure that Jason is following after them. It is in that moment that the bullet catches her in the chest and she feels like she's going to explode. She can't breathe and all she can think about is the pain. She falls, losing her grip on Aaron as she drops to the floor, struggling to breathe, squeezing her eyes shut tightly in an attempt to block out the pain. But she knows that is impossible.


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: **Any medical treatment in this section is the result of novice research and should not be looked at as completely error free; you can only learn so much on the internet.

**Nineteen**

Aaron turned to find Gemma with blood blooming on her shirt and with an almost clinical detachment he registered that she had been shot. It is a bad place to take a hit and from the haphazard way the men are shooting it is a lucky shot made at just the right angle. She was brought to her knees with the pain and his analytical mind logs the fact that there is no exit wound.

"Fuck," he breathes. The standard issue for most government security firms is at least a nine millimeter round. Some of these assholes were only carrying .22's and Aaron finds himself hoping it is what found its mark in Gemma's chest. It is a small caliber and that combined with the fact that they are a pretty good distance away from the shooter might work in their favor. If the velocity of the bullet was decreased over the distance it traveled then it might not have the force behind it to exit the body. Cavitation damage to the soft tissues might not be as extensive as it would be at close range. The bullet still being inside could mean that it struck bone and if that was the case the fragmentation of the metal could cause a hell of a lot of damage. "Damn it," Aaron kneels down and helps Gemma press her hands to her wound, ordering, "Keep pressure on it."

"We need to move," Jason says as calmly as if there are not shots echoing through the hall and bullets splintering cinderblock behind them. The hall is grotesque with blood and gore. Aaron agrees with the other man because Gemma is definitely bleeding enough to warrant a little worry that she could die without a hospital. She is going to be in a great deal of pain until she finally passes out, hopefully not from blood loss. This was definitely not part of the plan.

Jason covers him as Aaron picks Gemma up gently, cradling her against his chest. He is going to be pretty much useless when it comes to defending them but he is not just going to leave her to bleed to death in the hallway. This is not supposed to be happening. He was supposed to be able to give Marta her sister back, to prove to her that her faith in him is deserved. Now she will have first-hand evidence of how he will never be able to really protect her. "Hang on Gemma," Aaron says his focus on getting to the door that will take them outside, "You're going to be all right."

Gemma presses her palm to the hole in her side, feeling detached as she looks at the blood on her skin. "Why do people always say that," She wonders aloud, almost to herself.

"It makes them feel better," Jason says as he shoots another guard that was getting too close.

Finally, they are at the door to the outside. Aaron considers it a miracle that they did not lock the building down as soon as they realized that Jason Bourne and Aaron Cross were inside, but maybe they realized they would not fare well being trapped in a building with two of the government's top assassins. Or, maybe, the fire protocols kept the security detail from being able to close the building down. There is no telling what they are going to find outside but Aaron just prays they can make it to the car that Marta and Nicky have stolen before someone else decides to shoot at them.

There is a crowd gathered outside the NRAG building, made up of confused interns and desk jockeys, annoyed higher-ups and a growing number of firefighters and police officers. There are two fire trucks parked against the curb, as well as an ambulance parked to the right of the building, but no sign of Marta and Nicky. A whistle cuts through the noise and both Aaron and Jason turn to see Nicky beckoning to them from the passenger seat of the ambulance.

Jason stares her, "Seriously," he mutters, shaking his head.

They do not have time to debate the choice of vehicle but Aaron cannot help but feel that it is pretty appropriate given the state that Gemma is in. Nicky catches sight of Gemma in Aaron's arms and her face pales. Marta catches sight of her expression and feels her heart skip a beat. "What's the matter," she asks not sure that she really wants to know.

Nicky gets out of her seat and gestures for Marta to trade places, "I'll drive," she says. She has the feeling that Marta's mind is not going to be on the road when she sees the condition her sister is in.

Jason yanks the back doors open and Aaron climbs into the back with Gemma just as Marta gets out of her seat. For a moment, she is unable to make sense of what she is seeing. There are Aaron and Gemma and so much blood and for a split second she thinks that he has been shot, but then she realizes that it is Gemma. Her sister's blood is covering Aaron and the completely ridiculous thought crosses Marta's mind that the blood will stain his shirt. Her brain seems to be moving far too slowly and the reason she is a research virologist instead of a general practice doctor becomes all too apparent; she cannot deal with these live or death decisions.

Jason pulls the doors shut and Nicky fires up the engine and the ambulance lurches away from the curb. Jason looks in the side mirror and sees a lot of uniformed NRAG guards yelling and gesturing in their direction and he knows it's not going to be long before they're being chased once more.

Unfortunately, they'll going to be all too easy to follow in the ambulance. He looks back at Nicky. "I said get a car…A _car_. Not a fucking ambulance. This was your idea of nondescript? This was really the best you could do?" Jason points out and Nicky rolls her eyes at him and flips on the siren the cars in front of them immediately begin pulling over clearing a path.

In the side mirror Nicky can see the cars pulling back onto the road and hampering the vehicles following them, not enough to keep them away, but enough to make Nicky smile knowingly at Jason as she retorts, "Well, given your track record, I thought you might need a little medical assistance." After half a beat she added, "You're not exactly known for subtly, Jason." Nicky glances over her shoulder to where Aaron and Marta have Gemma laid out on a gurney, "Besides we need to take her to the hospital."

"No," Jason shakes his head. "We can't go to the hospital, head for the court house."

Nicky narrows her eyes, "Jason," she hisses, "Gemma needs help. That's more important then-"

But Jason cuts her off, "She might not make it to the hospital," he tells her, his voice low so it does not carry back to Aaron and Marta. "It would just be a waste of time. Go to the courthouse."

"Then I am glad we took the Ambulance," Nicky mutters swallowing but she doesn't argue anymore.

The exchange goes completely unnoticed by both Aaron and Marta, who are completely absorbed in trying to help Gemma. Aaron has only the most basic of medical training, given to him by the program so he would be able to stitch himself up in the field or keep himself from dying long enough to get to a real doctor and protect their multi-million dollar investment. Marta's medical training is, unfortunately, not much better. She is not that kind of doctor, but she is trying to keep a level head and steady hands as she tries to tear open a package of gauze.

"Took you long enough," Gemma mumbles, "Sis," watching as Marta struggles with the wrapping. She can tell by her sister's face that Marta is seconds away from completely losing it. Marta is wearing the same look that she wore when she finished her first week in the emergency department during her residency and it was only after a bottle of wine and a long talk that Gemma had convinced Marta she had not wasted all those years of schooling.

Gemma raised her hand weakly to cup Marta's cheek, trying to comfort her, but she lets it drop when the bright red stains her sister's pale cheek. This is an expression that most people are not familiar with, because Marta Shearing is not a fan of having complete breakdowns. But Gemma knows the look; she saw it on her sister's face when she was ten and received the news that her parents were dead. She saw it after she had to bail Marta out of jail from driving under the influence during her brief rebellious, angry teenage phase. The last time Gemma saw it was when they got together last Christmas and Marta told her about Peter Boyd walking out on her and their ramshackle house. Gemma knows that she is seeing it now because Marta thinks she's going to die. "Where have you been," she asks frowning, "They said awful things; have you been safe?"

"I was in Vietnam," Marta responded with a nod, "Yes, I was safe. Aaron took good care of me."

"Vietnam," Gemma repeats. The farthest out of the country she has been is Canada. "Is it nice?"

"No," Marta replies, once again not bothering to filter her thoughts. Her hands are shaking too badly to really get a purchase on the wrapper and she feels like throwing it to the floor and curling up into a ball. This cannot be happening. This is not how this was supposed to go down. She was supposed to be hugging her sister and having a joyous reunion, not watching Gemma bleed to death because she could not open a package of gauze. "Christ!"

Aaron gently takes the package from her and tears it open. Marta reaches for Gemma's hands, holding them tightly. "I'm sorry," She whispers to her sister, "I'm so sorry. This was entirely my fault."

Gemma squeezes Marta's hand as hard as she can. "No, it's not," she pauses, "Well, maybe a little." There is a hint of a smile on her face. "I'm just glad that you're okay."

"You're going to be okay too," Marta assures her. "We're going to get help." But she knows that is not what they are going to do. They are heading in the direction of the congressional hearings.

Aaron is cleaning the hole in Gemma's chest, though there's so much blood on her skin and his hands that it is hard to see what he is doing. Remembering the battle field medical training courses he was given during his training Aaron knows there is most likely an artery nicked. He does not think that any of her vital organs were hit; her biggest problem is going to be dying from blood loss. Aaron knows this wouldn't be a problem if they could get her to a hospital, but that's not part of the plan. He needed to irrigate the area so he could see what the hell they were dealing with.

"Marta," Aaron muttered as he glanced around the ambulance, "I need you to get me a few things."

"What," she asked absently her eyes never leaving her sister's face.

"Doc," he snapped, "we need to take care of this wound as best we can."

"I'm not a medical doctor," she snapped equally agitated.

"And I am a soldier, but we can help her." He pointed a bloody hand over her shoulder and ordered, "I need that bag of Ringer's lactate solution and some hemostats; hand them to me, Doc." Marta followed his finger and found the bottle he was looking for and in an instant she broke free of the web of despair that had mired her down upon seeing her sister's state.

She quickly handed the bag to him and, being pressed for time, he used a pair of scissors to cut the end off and then gingerly poured the fluid over the wound until he could see what he was dealing with. He was relieved to see there was no severed artery, but she was still bleeding pretty badly. Her chest was not foaming so they knew the bullet missed the lungs.

"Doc, this looks good," Aaron murmured as he cleaned the wound as thoroughly and as gently as he could. "It isn't an artery," he soothed, "And as far as I can tell it missed all of the major organs but the bullet is still inside. We have to get it out before we can try and bandage this."

"Okay," she nodded and her medical training finally kicked in. Taking a moment she studied the supplies in the medical carts and chose two pair of forceps and some tweezers. "Oxygen," she mutters.

"What," Aaron asks. He watches half-heartedly as Marta gingerly begins prodding the wound until she comes up with a bullet.

"Hypoxia," she glanced up distracted, "she needs oxygen with the blood lose hypoxia is a danger and we should get an IV started." Aaron nodded and quickly places a mask over Gemma's nose and mouth starting a steady stream of oxygen for her. Then he searched through the draw beside him until he came up with a bag of fluids. He was not a professional but one thing Outcome taught him was how to tap a vein. He chooses a good-sized vein on the inside of Gemma's arm and quickly inserts the IV. Aaron then looked at Marta for her next instructions but she is too busy searching her sister's insides for a tiny ball of metal to give him anything else productive to do.

Unlike in the movies she does not bother to drop it into a metal bowl instead she drops it to the ground and presses a wad of gauze that he handed her to the wound. Even with the bullet out and the bleeding minimal Gemma's chances are slim to none at best.

Maybe it makes him a bad person for not insisting that they scrap the plan to go to the Congressional meetings and head for the nearest hospital. Maybe it makes him a worse person because the reason he is so focused on trying to help Gemma is so he won't have to look at Marta's face as she watches her sister die. Whatever the reasons, Aaron does not speak up about their destination, but he thinks Marta is well aware of the situation. Stretching over Gemma until he can reach a vacuum packet Aaron tears it open.

"Here," he says, "You can use this to seal the wound until we can get her helped." She does not have a sucking chest wound but the SAM seal will at least keep filth out. As much as he wishes he could perform miracles he cannot save Gemma Shearing, but he has done what he can to see that she has a fighting chance. He hates the situation they have come to; everyone in this ambulance has lost too much to give up when their feet are practically in the door to freedom. Unfortunately, there are causalities in war and it is rarely one-sided, the good and the bad tend to die, and as selfish as it is Aaron is just glad Marta is not the one lying on the gurney before him. The best that Aaron can do is ensuring that Gemma has a fighting chance.

The storm of thoughts raging in Aaron's mind is interrupted by the sound of bullets hitting the side of the ambulance or hitting the cars around them. There's squealing tires and muffled yelling and it doesn't take a genius to realize that the goons at the NRAG have finally caught their trail. Not that it had to be that difficult, given the fact that they aren't exactly flying under the radar.

Jason inserts a new clip into his gun and glances at the side view mirror, right as it gets shot off the side. He leans out the window, fires at the black Honda riding their bumper and ducks back inside before they can fire off a return shot.

"We need to take a left," Jason commands without looking over at Nicky.

"A left," Nicky questions, fumbling around for the horn when a car pulls in front of them ignoring the ambulance and the blaring siren, "I'm supposed to take a right at-"

"Just take the left," Jason snaps and Nicky yanks the wheel to the left, laying on the horn and narrowly avoiding sideswiping a minivan. The sudden change in direction confuses their pursuers and puts them a decent distance ahead. Cars are swerving to get out of the way and the back window explodes from a minivan to the left. Nicky prays no one was hurt inside the family car, but it doesn't stop her from using the vehicle as a shield by swerving in front of the car.

Gemma squeezes Marta's hand as the ambulance lurches to the left. Marta nearly loses her footing and Aaron reaches out to steady her without looking. He's putting another clip into his gun, though he's not sure where he's going to be shooting from. He knows it would be easy to pick off their pursuers if he opened the back door but that also means he'll be exposing Marta and everyone else. He's really tired of bullets.

Aaron moves toward the front to talk to Jason and Gemma smiles slightly. The easy way between Aaron and her sister has not escaped her attention. "Looks like you found a good one," Gemma remarks. She winces when the ambulance hits a pot hole and pain shoots through her body.

Marta looks at her in surprise. "What?"

Gemma's eyes flick toward Aaron, who is trying to lean past Jason and fire out the passenger window, despite Jason's need for personal space. "He seems like a good guy; even if he is a wanted terrorist."

"He's not a terrorist," Marta argues. "But leave it to you to talk about my love life at a time like this." She rolls her eyes.

"That's my job as your sister." Gemma informs her frankly. "Someone's gotta look out for you and we both know that if this is my last conversation I want it to be memorable."

"Don't say that," Marta whispers and she feels tears prick her eyes all over again. "I'm so sorry Gemma. I should have been looking out for you. I thought," she sniffs, trying to keep from crying, "I thought that if I left you would be safe. They came for you to get to me. I never should have let that happen." Despite her best efforts, tears drop onto her cheeks.

Gemma wishes that she could sit up and hug her sister. Just hold her the way she used to do when they were younger. But it just doesn't seem possible. She squeezes Marta's hand instead, "Just get the bastards."

Up front, Jason elbows Aaron sharply in the side. "Will you find somewhere else to shoot from; you're going to make me deaf."

"Where would you like me to do that," Aaron retorts, "Out Nicky's window?" He's really not in the mood for Jason's comments and it would be a shame if he had to shoot Jason now after everything they've been through.

Jason doesn't bother to respond. "Take the right up here," he says to Nicky and she jerks the wheel sharply causing Jason to knock his head against the side of the door. "Jesus, Nick."

Nicky gives him an icy glance as she swerves around a car that takes too long to get out of her way, "Do _you_ want to drive?"

"Only if you want to shoot," Jason responds as he puts a bullet through the windshield of one of the cars following them; effectively making his point.

One of the windows on the back doors shatters in a shower of glass startling Marta who cries out in surprise. Aaron checks to make sure that she's all right before going to the broken window and firing at the cars weaving through traffic after them. There's only two cars still in pursuit but that's two too many as far as Aaron's concerned.

One of the cars gets close enough to slam into the bumper and Nicky nearly loses control. The ambulance runs up onto the curb and flattens a couple of chained up bicycles before Nicky can guide it back down to the street. Between the ambulance and the guys and the chance, there's nothing but chaos around them and Nicky is having a hard time not hitting pedestrians or cyclists or other cars. She hopes the drivers in D.C. have insurance.

"You should have turned left there," Jason remarks, ejecting his clip and sliding in a fresh one. "It would have taken you to 3rd Street. It would have saved time."

"You should stop backseat driving," Nicky snaps, "Jason Bourne!"

Jason can't resist commenting, "But I'm not in the backseat." Nicky reaches over and punches him in the shoulder without taking her eyes off the road.

One of the cars rams the bumper once more and Aaron nearly loses his footing, but manages to keep himself steady enough to shoot the two left tires and send the Honda spinning out of control. The other car that is following them gets caught in the crash that results from the Honda hitting the side of a car in the adjacent lane. Aaron really hopes that will be enough to keep them occupied.

"Are we almost there," Aaron looks at Jason, who is sitting in the passenger seat with his eyes closed, looking like he's in the middle of a pleasant nap. Aaron really doesn't think he'll ever understand how Bourne works.

"It should just be up ahead," Nicky responds, "Maybe another block."

Thankfully, the siren is still keeping people out of their way, though she figures it is only a matter of time before people wonder why the ambulance is heading away from the accident behind them.

Aaron turns to check on Marta and finds her kneeling beside Gemma, still holding her sister's hand but not saying anything. Gemma's eyes are half-closed and he can tell that she is struggling for every breath even with the oxygen mask. But at least she is still breathing, which means something. This is a Marta he feels like he has never seen before. Even in the lab, even when she was at her most professional, there was still warmth in her eyes that never failed to shine. Now, there's nothing. That spark is gone. Somehow, Aaron feels like that of everything he has lost that is the worst thing the program has taken from him that spark of fire.

Aaron moves to sit by her, taking Marta's other hand in his own. She turns to look at him, her eyes still cold and unwelcoming. Aaron wishes there was something to say in this situation, something that would make everything okay. But there's nothing. He failed to save the most important person in Marta's life; Gemma was slowly slipping away and Aaron could almost imagine his life with Marta ebbing away with her.

There isn't much time to sit around debating. Nicky bumps the ambulance against the curb outside of the court house, yanking out the keys and putting them in her pocket. Just in case. "All right kids, we're here," Nicky looks back at Gemma, who is still breathing but barely and she thinks it'll be a miracle if she survives the next fifteen minutes. Then again, Nicky felt like she could have said the same thing about them fifteen minutes ago.

Aaron anticipates Marta's reluctance to leave Gemma but she doesn't protest when he tries to pull her toward the back doors. There is determination in her eyes and a hell-hath-no-fury Marta Shearing that he has never seen before and definitely prefers to the empty-eyed one from only seconds before. She just picks up the khaki duffle bag loaded down with the folders they stole from Sterisyn-Morlanta what feels like years ago. Her shirt and hands are stained with Gemma's blood. Aaron looks at her and sees his warrior woman.

They get out of the back of the ambulance right as the third car, which apparently was not detained by the crash for long, screeches up to the curb. The driver and passenger doors swing open and almost simultaneously shots start flying. Aaron realizes that there is no cover to dive for as he pulls out his gun before his brain catches up to him. Only the fact that there are panicked and screaming civilians all around them keeps him from firing blindly over his shoulder.

The congressional hearings have drawn quite the crowd and all the curious tourists and locals start scattering when the first shots are fired. They need to get into get inside that building and they won't be able to do that if they get caught up in a fire fight. Tossing his weapon into the back of the ambulance he catches Jason's eye. Jason nods and drops his gun beside Aaron's. The reporters sent out to cover the hearings instantly grab for microphones and shout for their cameramen to stop slacking and start rolling.

Jason grabs Marta roughly and shoves her into Nicky seconds before a bullet whizzes through the space the doctor was standing in. She was nearly shot in the back and that is all Aaron can think as a red haze filters through his mind. Jason evidently understands his next move because they both move as a unit disarming and dropping the two closest shooters. Aaron steps toward the other two but Jason caught his arm stating firmly, "We should be running." Jason engages one of the men that gets to close breaking his arm and then crushing his windpipe in an economy of movement that if frightening to behold as he growls, "Now."

It sounds like good advice as far as Aaron is concerned. The four of them are running for the massive stone steps that stretch up to the entrance of the building. The shots being fired in their direction taper off as they put distance between themselves and their pursers but Aaron knows without having to turn around that the shooters are going to be running after them, trying to take them down before they can get inside the building.

The gunfire and screams have attracted the attention of the Supreme Court Police Squad and they are flooding the lawn from every direction, but they pay little heed to the four of them as the race up the steps, they are focused on the gun wielding threat. Aaron has never been so glad for that innate sixth sense that had made him discard the hand gun. The trio of guards stationed in the lobby of the building is already on edge because of the gunfire and they're stepping outside, guns drawn, just as Nicky and Marta reach the doors.

The youngest of the guards blinks in surprise at the group making a mad dash for the building. "Excuse me. You can't just-" But Nicky runs right past him and through the gold-trimmed door, followed closely by Marta and Jason.

"They're armed," Aaron yells motioning over his shoulder to one of the chasing them. Just as Aaron follows the others into the lobby one of the NRAG goons shoots, cracking the glass on the doors.

Upon entering they discover more guards one of which grabs Marta by the strap of the duffle bag, trying to wrestle her to the ground. All the while, explaining that she is violating the policies of the congressional hearings by entering the building without permission and is under arrest. Aaron tackles the man, sending them both crashing to the floor and away from Marta.

"Go!" Aaron shouts at her, trying to regain his footing, "Get to the hearings." The guard shoves him back to the ground, driving his knee into his back and knocking the breath out of Aaron before he can shout anymore commands.

Marta hesitates for only a moment before running off down the hallway. Nicky follows after her, looking over her shoulder to see another guard trying to wrestle Jason to the ground. The third guard is still chasing after them and Nicky hopes they can keep their lead and get into the congressional hearings before he catches up.


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: **Wow, this is officially the last chapter of the actual story although the epilogue is nearly half way complete. I know I speak for Jack E. Peace when I say it has been a wonderful ride and we appreciate each and everyone of you for reading and reviewing our little fic.

THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO STUCK WITH US TO THE END!

* * *

**Twenty**

Even before the hearings started two days ago, Pamela Landy knew that she was going to get fucked. After years of working for the very company she is now trying to take down, she has first-hand experience of what happens to the people who stand in the way of their best interests. Unfortunately, she is now that person. To be honest, Landy considers herself lucky that she is not dead yet. She has the feeling that Vosen, Kramer, Byer and the others are going to let her humiliate herself in public, let this whole thing blow up in her face and _then_ kill her. Landy has not decided yet if the judge is in their pockets, but it does not really matter. Everyone else is, including her own lawyer, so the judge is going to believe whatever they want.

That morning, Landy had the feeling that this whole thing was going to be over before it really started. For the past day days, Vosen and the others have made her look like a pandering idiot and a traitor to the nation. Her first hand testimony, her anecdotes and conviction just are not enough to back the program into a corner and tear it down. The only person who is going to pay for Treadstone, Blackbriar and God only knows what else is her.

Landy did consider it a small victory when Byer walked into the court room this morning looking like he had not slept in weeks. His eyes betrayed that he was experiencing some pain that was purely physical and Landy watched him favor his left arm and shoulder, wincing whenever anyone got too close. She wished that she knew the story behind whatever had happened to the man, who had also been absent from yesterday's proceedings.

Unfortunately, Landy's private victory and flash of optimism did not last very long. She has been sitting in this court room for nearly an hour and she can tell from the expression on the judge's face that he feels like they are just wasting his time. In his mind, the only solid case is the one for her being a terrorist, a traitor and certifiably crazy. Landy doubts they will even make it to lunch.

Vosen is in the middle of defaming her character when the sound of desperate shouting drifts in from the hallway and catches everyone's attention. Gennaro, the judge, narrows his eyes, an irritated expression crossing his face. He looks at the bailiffs standing by the door asking sternly, "What in God's name?"

One of them shrugs. "I'm not sure, Your Honor."

The bailiff reached for the door just as it bursts open and a dark haired woman runs into the court room with Nicky Parsons hot on her heels. Landy almost can't believe her eyes. Out of all the things she expected from the congressional hearings, this was not one of them.

A uniformed guard comes running in after them, his shouts for them to stop seeming a little irrelevant at this point. Byer turns to see what the commotion is and his face pales when he locks eyes with Marta Shearing. She narrows her eyes at him and Byer is glad that she is not carrying a gun because he can see in her eyes how badly she wants to kill him. Cross has definitely done a number on her.

The judge pounds his gavel so hard it sounds as though it might crack. "What the hell is going on here," He shouts, looking at the assorted group now in his courtroom. He looks at Marta and the blood on her shirt and skin. "Do you need medical assistance?" Marta shakes her head. "Then you better start explaining yourself."

"Your Honor, my name is Dr. Marta Shearing." Marta is finding it hard to catch her breath, but she's forcing the words out before she misses her chance, "I used to work for Sterisyn-Morlanta, as part of the Outcome program, under the direction of these men." She feels like there's so much she needs to say but thinking about Gemma lying in the back of the ambulance is making it hard to think and to keep her composure. "That man," she points at Byer, "killed my sister."

Byer's lawyer jumps up and starts yelling about objections and the other men working for the defense start chiming in and once again, the judge bangs his gavel down, the crack echoing through the courtroom.

"Miss, that's a hell of an allegation," The judge informs Marta sharply, "And I don't have time for stories in my courtroom."

"Trust me, it's not a story." Nicky speaks up, moving to stand beside Marta. "My name is Nicky Parsons and I used to work for these men as well, as part of the Treadstone program. We have irrefutable evidence that these men are terrorists using the government funding and policies to hide murders as government sanctioned black operations and line their own pockets."

"These files," Marta pulls the duffle bag over her shoulders and drops it to the ground with a satisfying thump. "Detail every aspect of the programs we mentioned as well as some even more disturbing scientific experiments paid for by the American tax payers."

"Most of them signed," Nicky chimed in, "by Noah Vosen, Ezra Kramer or Eric Byer."

The man acting as Vosen's lawyer gets to his feet once more, "Objection your honor." He points to the bag. "Whatever might be contained inside that bag is not admissible as evidence. All evidentiary claims must be made using evidence that has been filed and entered before the proceedings begin." He looks smugly at Marta and Nicky. Nicky has to refrain from giving him the finger.

"Thankfully," Judge Gennaro said intercepting the barrister's conceited look and giving him one of his own earning Landy's respect as he adds, "I, too, completed law school. So, please save the lectures for when you are standing in front of a mirror."

* * *

While the Honorable Judge Patrick Gennaro is calling his courtroom to order, Aaron and Jason are busy handcuffing the last of the Supreme Court's lobby police to their guard post.

"Jackson," One of the men's walkie-talkie is being paged, "Report."

Aaron pulls it off the desk and presses the button saying gruffly, "Area secure."

"Good," the voice acknowledged, "Lock down the building no one in or out."

"Ten-four," Aaron muttered then added, "We have reports of a wounded woman in an ambulance at the edge of the parking lot."

"She's being taken care of and will be going to the hospital soon," the voice informed them. "You lock down that building and make sure it stays secure."

"Roger-Willco," Aaron signed off and tossed the radio into a waste basket Jason took from beside the desk to gather all of the guard's radios, firearms and keyrings. When they were sure everything was as secure as they could make it Jason tied the plastic bag shut and left it down the hall out of the men's reach.

Aaron studied the scene; the men were handcuffed in such a way as to appear that they were diligently guarding their post. It wasn't perfect but he figured they should consider themselves lucky that they are being restrained and not killed. Or they could have been in the hands of people with a _shoot first, ask questions later_ school of thinking. Looking out the glass door he can find no trace of the men that had been pursuing them. They vanished, along with the bullet ridden black Honda.

The news reporters are still on the scene, cameras rolling, desperately trying to figure out what the hell is going on. The morning, previously believed to be a boring day spent sitting outside the court house watching for Landy or one of the defendants to emerge is quickly turning into a career making assignment.

Aaron glances toward the ambulance and is glad to see the voice wasn't lying about Gemma being taken care of because someone apparently called the real EMTs; there is another ambulance parked catty-corner to the curb and orders are being shouted out by the professionals on scene. Aaron hopes this is because Gemma is still alive and fighting to stay that way.

"I've never been arrested before." Jason remarks as Aaron locks the door. "Not by American police anyway."

"I have," Aaron replies, "Twice. I was sixteen."

Jason wants to press for the story, but they have too much to get done and he doesn't want Nicky out of his sight any longer than necessary. Both he and Aaron remain silent as they approach the courtroom. If Jason had to guess, he'd put money on the fact that they're both thinking about Marta and Nicky and whether they were able to get into the hearings. For the first time in his life, Jason feels optimistic.

* * *

It is rare dealing with this type of inquiry and after days of having the slick as snake oil lawyers blowing smoke up his ass the Honorable Judge Patrick Gennaro has had enough. Letting his eyes survey the scene before him he motions for the guards to stand down. The guards are still standing uncertainly behind Marta and Nicky, ready to take them into custody at any second. Pamela Landy is looking at Nicky with a mixture of surprise and relief on her face and he can tell that she is just bursting with things to say. He can see the way that Byer is guardedly watching Marta, his face pale and his eyes betraying his fear and the duffle bag resting on the bench in the middle of it all. It's the fear in Byer's eyes and his own curiosity that prompts the judge to call a recess so he can have a chance to sort everything out.

"Dr. Shearing and Miss Parsons," he nodded to each woman as he says their name, "You may join these proceedings; please have a seat. The bailiff will bring the bag to the bench so that I might take a moment to consider how we will proceed."

In the commotion Eric Byer tried to slip from the courtroom but he was stepping through the door he came face to face with Jason Bourne and Aaron Cross. It was interesting to see the man pale and backpedal as if the devil was after him and Gennaro thought it might not be too far off the mark. Observing the courtroom is something he has grown accustomed to doing. It is amazing what you can learn when people were just sitting in the room or tripping over themselves to move out of the way of two ordinary looking men.

"Mr. Byer," the Honorable Judge Gennaro barked, "I don't believe I have released you from these proceedings."

"Your Honor," he stammered, "I—"

"You," the judge said, "Don't need your mouth to find a seat in my courtroom, Mr. Byer."

"Your Honor," Aaron called as respectfully as one could be covered in blood and barging into a courtroom during proceedings, "We would like permission to enter the courtroom."

"We have first-hand information that is pertinent to this matter," Jason added.

"Well," the Honorable Judge Gennaro shook his head gesturing for the men to enter, "Mr. Bourne and Mr. Cross I certainly never expected either of you to walk into my courtroom."

"We never thought we would have the opportunity to present our case and receive a fair trial," Aaron said, "We understand that there are things we will have to answer for, but it was too important that the actions of Eric Byer, Noah Vosen and Ezra Kramer were brought to the attention of the proper authorities."

"Your Honor," Vosen stood from his seat and gestured toward the new arrivals, "These men are enemies of the state and should be arrested."

"I see you have something in common with your lawyer, Mr. Vosen," Patrick Gennaro scowled down at the man, "You both think you can tell me how to do my job. I suggest you sit down and button your yap unless you would like to find yourself in contempt of court."

Turning back to the men who have graced his television screen and every government website's most-wanted posters and it is hard to believe the allegations being levied against them. However, they are standing in his courtroom and there are no other guards rushing in to subdue them.

"The guards in the hallway," he asked.

"Safe," Cross assured him.

"Handcuffed to the front desk," Bourne added.

Nodding he gestured for the men to have a seat and was intrigued when the women stood and shifted so that the men could take up positions beside them in a boy-girl-boy-girl fashion. The men sat on the edge of their seats ready for action and the women angled their bodies closer to them, but did not hamper the men's movements by clinging to them as Patrick's own wife might have done in a situation like this.

He watched as Cross leaned over and brushed Dr. Shearing's hair away from her face and whispered something in her ear that made her dry and laugh all at once. These for new arrivals had seen some terrible things in the last few days and if what they said was true their lives had been filled with such events for many years.

"We are going to take a recess," Patrick announced, "While my colleges and I discuss how to proceed." Seeing the shifting start among the usually self-assured group of men he added, "No one leaves this room; I don't care if Jesus Christ, himself, comes down and opens the door…Understood?"

The murmured consensus agreed to his mandate, but he was pretty sure that there would be one or two trying to weasel out of the room while his back was turned. He decided to leave any policing actions to the two men that seemed to be itching to get their hands on anyone that even thought about making their lives hell.

* * *

During the recess, the Honorable Judge Patrick Gennaro read through a few of the many files in the bag. It makes him sick the things he reads and his decision is made pretty quickly. There is more than enough evidence in that duffle to give credibility to Nicky and Marta's stories. Taking a moment to throw-up in his en suite Patrick Gennaro rinses his mouth and meets his own eyes in the mirror over the sink. The bag of rattlesnakes Nicky and Marta tossed in his lap are eating at him with their poison dipped fangs, along with a strung together abridged account of their experiences with NRAG, Jason Bourne, Aaron Cross and near death experiences.

His life is about to get interesting and probably not in a good way. Wiping his face Patrick returns to his desk and picks up the picture of his late wife and he is thankful, for the first time that she is no longer here because he knows if she was he would have a weakness. She is a weakness that these bastards would exploit to keep their traitorous acts and inhumane science experiments secret. Gently stroking his fingers over her smiling face he sits the frame down and pulls his robe on.

The bailiff calls the court to order and the Honorable Judge Gennaro sits down in his chair and shuffles a few papers about, stalling for time. He is unprepared for the anger that sweeps over him when Noah Vosen speaks, "Your Honor if I may speak."

"No," he snarls, "You may not! I believe I asked you to keep your mouth shut Mr. Vosen or suffer the consequences. Mr. Vosen you will be held without bail until these hearings are at an end. Due to the magnitude of the information contained in these files the following people will be remanded to custody without bail Eric Byer, Ezra Kramer and Noah Vosen. Bailiffs, please, take Mr. Vosen, Mr. Byer and Mr. Kramer into custody and don't forget to advise them of their legal rights." The room exploded with activity and shouting as all three of the men was summarily handcuffed and lead away.

"Jason Bourne and Aaron Cross," Judge Gennaro said as he turned to the two most sought after fugitives in America, "You will voluntarily stay here until you have given statements so detailed you will rival only JRR Tolkien and God in verbosity; is that understood?"

"Yes, Your Honor," the two men answered in unison as they shifted nervously in their seats.

"Dr. Shearing and Miss Parsons you may remain here," he gestured to the courtroom, "until Cross and Bourne have completed their statements."

"Your Honor," Aaron called respectfully, "Dr. Shearing's sister, an innocent bystander dragged into this mess by Eric Byer, was shot this afternoon and has been taken to the hospital. Marta needs to see to her sister."

Patrick listened to the man and watched as the doctor in question placed a hand, still bloody, on Cross' arm as if to thank him for thinking of her and her sister. "Very well, I will arrange a ride for Dr. Shearing to go to the hospital."

"This hearing will reconvene in two days' time, so that the files provided have time to be admitted into evidence and Jason Bourne, Aaron Cross, Marta Shearing and Nicky Parsons can be added to the witness list." With that being said Judge Gennaro banged his gavel and muttered, "The court is adjourned for the next fifty-six hours."

Standing to exit the courtroom Patrick had a good view of Pamela Landy firing her lawyer. From his place at the bench he called out to her, "Ms. Landy," and gestured her over to his side. "If you want to press charges against your former attorney I would be happy to assist you."

Glancing at her pale and shaking lawyer Pamela Landy smiled, "Thank you, Your Honor, I believe I will avail myself of your very kind offer."

* * *

Marta can't get any information on Gemma's condition over the phone, but the fact that she is in the hospital and not in the morgue is some of the best news that she's heard all day. Nicky agrees to wait with Aaron and Jason just to make sure they don't forget themselves and try to reenact a scene from _The Great Escape_ and Marta finds a police officer who agrees to drive her to the hospital.

Word about the events at the courthouse is finally starting to catch on. The story is spreading like wildfire when people realize that Jason Bourne is involved and that all four people who went charging into the courthouse are wanted fugitives. Though, Marta isn't entirely sure what their status is at the moment. Judge Gennaro is a hard man to read, but she's already gotten the feeling that the tide has changed as far as the hearings are concerned. Proof that Byer, Kramer and Vosen know a lot more than they are letting on has become pretty obvious and she hopes that it is going to be enough to exonerate her and Aaron and Jason and Nicky, just like they hoped when they first put this whole plan together.

Of course, earning their freedom was second to rescuing Gemma but if Gemma is not going to be okay, if there is nothing she can do to save her sister after all, then Marta does not want this whole thing to be for nothing.

Marta takes the elevator up to the fifth floor and finds her sister asleep in a hospital bed. Her room is a single, which is a relief, and Marta shuts the door when she steps into the room. Gemma is nearly as white as the sheets tucked around her body and is hooked up to several monitors and wires, one of which is feeding plasma into her body. Marta's eyes prick with tears as she looks at her sister. She looks so small and vulnerable, words she never thought she'd connect to Gemma. Gemma was always her support system, her rock, her mother and father and guiding star all rolled into one.

Marta gently takes Gemma's hand, careful of the tubes that are taped down to her skin. Gemma doesn't stir but Marta takes comfort in the steady rise and fall of her chest and the constant beeping on the monitor beside her.

Marta isn't sure how much time passes with her just sitting there, holding onto Gemma's hand and letting herself become lost in her thoughts. It's weird to not have to do anything but be still. She doesn't know what happens next. No running, no hiding, no lying and no one trying to kill them. She thinks. Because as mad as Byer and the others are, she can also tell that they are scared and if the judge had not arrested them they probably would have been half-way around the world in a few hours' time.

Gemma finally stirs, her eyes fluttering open and her hand squeezing Marta's on reflex as she starts to wake up. Marta can't keep a smile off her face as she watches Gemma register her surroundings and focus on her little sister. "So," Gemma finally manages to croak out, her voice scratchy, "I'm not dead."

"Not today," Marta informs her, "So let's keep it that way." She squeezes Gemma's hand. "Don't scare me like that again."

Gemma manages a small smile. "I'll do my best. Though, I guess I could say the same about you. Your life seems to have gotten a lot more interesting lately."

Marta wrinkles her nose slightly. "I could do with a little less interesting," she replies.

"Well you don't have to worry about that anymore." Gemma assures her sister. "You can come back to Montreal with me and just start over."

Marta lets Gemma's words sink in, trying to imagine them applying to her life, but she cannot imagine it because that is not where her life is headed any longer. How many times has she wished for things to be different; to just be able to relax and be stable and in one place, without worrying for her safety? How badly has she wanted to be the person that she was before: just a scientist, lost in her work? The ability to start over now seems like an obtainable possibility.

* * *

Aaron and Jason are released without complications after Judge Gennaro finishes listening to their scrupulously detailed statements and Aaron finds it strange to just be able to walk out of the door instead of having to break his way out. Nicky is waiting for them in the lobby and instantly Aaron feels himself tense, "Where's Marta," he demands. He expected her to be back by now.

"She is still at the hospital," Nicky explains. "I spoke with her an hour ago and she said Gemma is still sleeping. She does not want to leave her until she regains consciousness."

Aaron feels himself relax and fill with relief. The possibility of Gemma almost seems too good to be true. But he is not going to question it. If Gemma is indeed alive and well, then he'll consider this whole ordeal to be a success.

Nicky fills them in on what took place in the court room as they walk out of the precinct. Her words are quickly lost in the din of people shouting for their attention, holding cameras and microphones and trying to capture the infamous Jason Bourne and his associates on film. Aaron has no idea how so many people heard about their whereabouts so quickly and he has to push down his first impulse, which is to fight his way out of the pack and run for cover. He can tell Jason is just as uncomfortable, if not more so, since he's the real focus of everyone's attention. It's a real front page: wanted terrorist now suspected to be innocent. Aaron hopes he can convince Marta to head somewhere small and remote, where people aren't going to care that they were on the news and involved in this whole mess.

Aaron finally manages to break away from the group and hails a taxi to take him to the hospital. After a little bit of flirting, he's able to convince one of the women manning the front desk to tell him where to find Gemma and takes the stairs instead of the elevator out of habit. He walks quickly and keeps his head down, not meeting the eyes of the people around him. He wonders if he will ever unlearn the things drilled into him by the program, if he will ever become the type of person who does not care about cameras and who might recognize his face. Somehow, Aaron doubts that. He will always know his escape routes, especially when he has something worth protecting.

He can hear Marta's voice even before he reaches Gemma's room and Aaron hesitates in the hallway, not wanting to interrupt Marta's reunion with her sister. Gemma sounds exhausted and drained but still strong somehow and Aaron can tell that she's going to be okay.

"Well you don't have to worry about that anymore," Gemma is saying, "You can come back to Montreal with me and just start over."

Marta doesn't respond right away and Aaron is surprised when he feels himself grow tense and uncertain. This is something he'd never even thought of. The possibility that Marta wouldn't want to stay with him once they'd earned their freedom. He feels stupid for letting the reality of their situation escape him for this long. Marta was his doctor, he was her patient. Fate and circumstance threw them together and even though it seems hard to believe, they've only truly known each other for a little more than two weeks. To Aaron, the possibility to losing Marta or being without her was impossible to consider, something that just couldn't happen. He needed her. He feels like an idiot for just assuming that she felt the same.

"I never really had a choice in all of this," Marta says finally, her voice soft but not too quiet that it's hard for Aaron to hear her. "I couldn't even think for a second. I just had to react. It was leave with him or stay, and get killed."

Aaron realizes that this is why love and other human emotions are discouraged in the program: they make you weak, vulnerable and stupid. He's glad that he's never had attachments to people in his life, especially if this is how it all ends. And he knows that everything ends.

"I…I have the choice now" Marta continues and Aaron can hear her voice wavering slightly. "I'm sorry Gemma. I love you. But I choose him."

And just like that, Aaron can breathe again. It's that easy. He wants to hold Marta and never let her go again. He wants her to know that he chooses her too.

"Marta…this isn't you." Gemma says and Aaron can hear the hint of disbelief in her tone and just a little bit of hurt. "He's dangerous…you're a _scientist_. I don't want you to get hurt or God forbid get killed. I'd have no idea if anything happened to you."

"Things will be different now." Marta promises. "The whole program is on its last leg, they won't come for us anymore. And Aaron isn't dangerous; he's the safest thing I know."

There's another moment of silence and Aaron thinks about choosing that moment to walk into the room. He doesn't want Marta or Gemma to catch him lurking outside. But Gemma speaks again before he can make up his mind.

"I just don't want anything to happen to you." Gemma says softly. "I watched him kill a man—a scientist. He broke his neck," she frowned, "just like you see in the movies. That man wasn't even armed."

Marta was silent as she listened to her sister and Aaron knew she was remembering other times when he reacted violently. "Was the man going to help you or hurt you," Marta finally asked.

"I—I don't know," Gemma muttered, "He saw me and I asked him to help me. I said please; but one minute he was reaching for something on his desk and then he was dead."

"Then he made his choice," Marta replied, "This is about survival, Gemma, them or us and I choose us. Every stain on Aaron's hands is on mine, too. I loaded the gun, me and my science."

Aaron closed his eyes he had told her that on the side of the road in Maryland hoping to shock, hoping to wound. Now he wishes he could take the words away pluck them out of the past and keep them from cutting Marta Shearing too deeply.

"I don't want anything to happen to you," Gemma murmured and there were tears in her voice.

"Nothing will." Marta sounds so certain that it almost makes Aaron smile. "He'll keep me safe."

"Good, because you definitely do not want to get shot trust me on this. It hurts like a motherfucker," Gemma remarks.

Marta laughs and the sound brings a smile to Aaron's face. "I can work with that."

Aaron decides that now is as good a time as any to interrupt and he walks into the hospital room, his smile still on her face. "Gemma, I thought you were a goner there for a while."

Gemma smiles at him and it seems genuine, despite her earlier reservations. "I think I was for a while."

Marta turns to face him and the sparkle is back in her eyes and Aaron considers himself lucky to be on the receiving end of the smile she gives him. For the first time in his life, he knows what it feels like to be someone's first choice, not an afterthought or a job. He could get used to this feeling.


End file.
